Gordon Truth: Turnabout Plague
by Ioniclunch
Summary: The third case in the Gordon Truth series. When a girl connected to Gordon's past turns to him for help, he must face an old enemy, and an old friend, in court. But with NYM hanging in the shadows, he's not just defending others' lives anymore. Ending up.
1. Chapter 1

Hey! I'm back with the intriduction to the next Gordon Truth case. I'm trying to tie up some loose ends with the last case while starting a new conflict. And since this is the third so far in the series, you're going to want to read the first two Gordon Truth cases before you read this.

--

"That's enough of that."

Ian Vice fell to the floor, beaten and broken. Someone snapped their fingers and the brutes surrounding the gray and black vested man hurriedly scattered to the far sides of the room. Ian lifted his head from the floor, one eye-swollen shut, and blood flowing down from his mouth. He coughed and collapsed onto the floor.

"I told you not to fail me again, didn't I?"

Ian Vice did not or could not respond.

"You are our legal man. You keep my people out of jail, and I keep you alive. But there's a problem, two of my men are behind bars, so if you can't keep your part of the deal…"

In the darkness, Ian heard the sound of a gun cocking. Suddenly, he felt it make contact with his head.

"…should I keep mine?"

Ian flinched, yet the gun remained silent. Instead, he felt the gun slam into the side of his face. The force of the blow made him turn to face the front, and the face of his leader came into view.

He didn't look like a criminal boss. He was unhealthily skinny, but tall, and with casual clothing. He wore a simple purple button-up shirt and jeans. His black hair hung down in neat bangs in front, and stuck almost straight up in the back. But it was his smile that caught Ian's attention. A smarmy but sickly grin the intensity that even Ian Vice himself could not emulate.

"However, I dislike wasting resources, and despite your current failures, you're still not useless. Pick him up."

The goons rushed to the center of the room and held Ian up by his shoulders so his knees were still dragging on the floor.

"This next operation is of the utmost importance. Make sure none of our men are caught in any legal proceedings, these last two mistakes of yours have given our operations unwanted attention and investigations."

He turned and sat back at his chair. "That is all, throw him out."

One of the brutes opened a door. Ian lost conciseness before he hit the ground.

--

I almost forgot why I was here.

"Do you need something else, sir?"

I was still standing at the counter, the man behind me made a gruff noise of annoyance. I shook my head and looked at the receptionist. "No, sorry. Just a bit distracted."

I started making my way toward a chip vending machine when my cell phone rang.

"Good afternoon, this is Gordon Truth, attorney at law speaking."

"When are you coming home?"

I sat on one of the couches in the lobby, "What's wrong Clara?"

There was a pause. "I want you to come home."

I threw my legs lazily over the side of the couch and laid my head down on the armrest "It's my apartment, I can leave whenever I want. And I think you're a bit too old for a babysitter."

I heard a sob. "I woke up and you weren't here… I was worried."

"I'm sorry, I'll leave a note next time, okay?"

"Are you working on a case?"

The receptionist gave me a dirty look and I quickly straightened up on the couch. "No, I'm kind of taking a break for a while. And, y'know, it's the weekend."

Clara made an angry breathing sound, "Just come home soon, okay?"

I nodded. "Just stay inside, watch some TV; help yourself to some popsicles…"

"Yeah, I meant to tell you, I finished all of them yesterday, could you get some more?"

I sighed and stood. "I'll pick some up on my way back. Bye now." I flipped my cell phone and turned to face the elevator. I glanced toward the receptionist on last time. "You sure it's room 280?"

She gave me an annoyed nod and returned to her conversation on the phone. I shrugged and punched the button on the wall. With a small ding, the elevator doors opened and I walked inside, pushing the button for floor two. When the doors opened again, I quietly shambled into the apartment hallway. I was starting to sweat a little, and I was feeling a bit nauseas so I stepped into a nearby restroom. I washed my hands and looked to the mirror, it was really stupid of me to bring this jacket along, it looked like something a hobo would wear.

I shook off some of the water on my hands and, ignoring the towel dispenser, ventured back into the hallway. The door to room 280 was looking more and more frightening, I almost considered turning back. I hesitated as I held the door knocker in my hands. With a gruff breath, I summoned all of my determination and brought the brass knocker down onto the door once, twice, three times.

"Hold on! Just a minute!"

The door flung open and she had a sudden look of surprise.

"Oh, Gordon!" She looked off to the side awkwardly. "What are you doing here?" she added with a nervous chuckle.

My brain froze, what was I supposed to say? We stood staring at each other for a while. I coughed. "J-just… checking on you… I guess." I clamped my left hand onto the back of my neck and smiled awkwardly.

"Well, come in, I suppose."

Her apartment was surprising plain. Most of the walls were bare and the furniture was unorganized at best. I took a seat on the couch.

"Want some water? Or some… I don't know, milk?"

"No thanks…" I suddenly realized that I was thirsty. "No, wait… water. If you please."

She came back to the couch and handed me a small glass with ice water. I sipped and put it on the table.

"So…" she began. "What brings you here?"

Okay Gordon. Do you blow this off as some professional thing or make some smarmy joke? Tell her she's pretty. No! Umm… sip the water some more, make her think you're cool somehow.

I crossed my legs and took a swig of water. "Well… umm…" _Be honest, _"To be honest I was worried about you. Y'know, Ken being in jail and all."

"Oh," she held a confused expression. "Well… I'm guessing we're not together anymore?" I could almost hear _thanks to you_ in my head, but it thankfully didn't surface.

"Well, if you two were serious or anything… I kind of feel guilty." I drank more, some of it spilled on my pants.

"We were serious until that trial." She wasn't looking at me anymore. "I don't know what he did to make that tramp Holly Wreath fall in love with him, and I don't think I want to know."

She held her hand in front of her eyes and I heard a small sob. "Excuse me… I… I'm sorry."

"No, don't be!" I leaned forward. "He… er, well, we kind of patched things up."

She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and continued looking at the wall.

I bit my lip. We weren't going anywhere fast. "Look, I just felt like coming to visit you. We used to be together, y'know. And then, well, you know what happened. But then you were in the hospital and…"

"You never saw me again, is that it?" She looked at me. "I was in there. Re-learning basic motor skills, and you never came to visit me. You were too busy being… being a coward!"

"I was eighteen! I was afraid for my safety! Wouldn't you be? I wanted to enter law school, I wanted to get on with my life! And you should of-." I bit my tongue and squinted.

"Should have what? Gotten on with my life too?" She bit her fist. "Sorry, I was busy being a human vegetable! And guess who was there to support me? Not you, Ken Cline, and he loved me like you never did!"

She leapt up and opened the door. Her eyes were red and watery. "Maybe you should go."

I stood, but didn't move. "It's my fault that they did that to you. They were trying to kill me, but then…"

She didn't say anything. Tears found their way to my eyes. "I still love you! I've loved you since the tenth grade and I've never stopped loving you. I couldn't bring myself to face you, when it was me that put you in danger in the first place. I never forgave myself, and when you suddenly appeared in the forensics department a month ago… I thought, I thought we could start again..."

She cleared her throat. "Maybe you should go."

I put one last drink from the cup. As I passed the door, I whispered. "Can I still use the forensics room?"

She nodded stiffly, and closed the door behind me.

I pulled off my jacket. "That went well."

My phone buzzed. I flipped it open and held it to my ear. "Good afternoon, Gordon Truth speaking."

"Hello? This is Gordon Truth?"

I sighed. No matter how many times I say it when I answer the phone, they always ask if it's me anyway. "Yes, this is Gordon Truth, how can I help you?"

"I'm in a bit of trouble with the authorities. I'd rather not go to jail, so I hope you will be able to take my request?"

The voice was feminine, but bitter and vain. "I don't mind. As long as you're innocent, then we'll get to work on your defense. Are you at the detention center?"

"Yes, cell 3B."

"I'll be there within the hour."

I pushed the elevator button again and waited for it to bump its way down. "This is going to be an interesting day."


	2. Chapter 2

I just have to thank everyone for their support! Gordon Truth; Fall of the Turnabout has recieve more than 600 hits! I know it's nothing special, but when it's the Gordon Truth series, it means a lot. Enjoy!

--

The speaker buzzed to life. "Mike? You there?"

Mike Angelo sighed and pushed a button on the speaker on his desk with the tip of his pen. "What is it, Smith?"

"Y'know that case you were just assigned to?"

Mike looked to the document in his lap. "The Vian case? What about it?"

"Didn't you want me to tell you who the defense attorney would be?"

Mike looked at his lap again. Vian, the name he never expected to hear again. "Yes, who is it?"

"Well, we don't know for sure yet, but my resources tell me that Gordon Truth just walked into the suspect's cell in the detention center…"

That was a surprise. Mike reached for his cell phone and found Gordon's number in his list. "Gordon? Really, you don't say. He probably won't be too happy when he finds out who his new client is…"

"That's why I called, Mr. Angelo. Since Gordon's on the case, do you want to pass it off to another prosecutor? I remember Ian Vice expressing a lot of interest in it…"

"No, no. Absolutely not." Gordon really blew away his expectations in that last case. This would be a great chance to really test him. "Actually, I was about to call Gordon myself to tell him about it."

"Sure thing sir." The speaker blinked off.

Mike stood up from his cluttered desk and paced in his office. Raley Vian, Gordon would most likely be treated to bad memories with her presence. He fiddled with his goatee; perhaps he should join Gordon at the detention center, since his office was merely a block away. But what about keeping offensive with Gordon? They were, after all, on opposite sides if Gordon should decide to take the case.

He picked up his briefcase. Screw the rules, he was Gordon's friend. Besides, it was the truth that mattered, not winning and losing.

--

She had brown hair with bright yellow highlights, her blue eyes felt like ice to whoever was unfortunate enough to look into them. I gulped, this was my client?

"Hello, Mr. Truth." She smiled so coldly I shivered.

I stammered. Biting my lip, I managed. "Raley Vian."

She nodded, "That's my name. I guess you recognize me after all."

Raley Vian, perhaps the most despised, yet somehow loved student in high school. "H-how are you? After that… er, incident?"

"It's been seven years, lawyer-boy." She studied her fingernails for dirt. "Rest assured, I've more than forgotten about it."

_You remember it well enough to know what I'm talking about. _

I slapped my briefcase onto the desk and snapped it open. "So, if I'm going to be your attorney, I should know the circumstances of your arrest."

She popped a mint into her mouth. "My mother was murdered about two days ago."

I almost choked, subtle aren't we? "And they think _you _did it?"

She sniggered. "I should have done it. But, alas, it wasn't me who did the deed."

I wiped my mouth, I was disliking her more and more with each passing second. "What do you mean you should have done it?"

She pursed her lips. "I mean, I should have killed her. I certainly wanted to, and I was probably going to do it anyway."

"But why?" I flattened my hands on the desk in front of me. "Why would you want to kill your own mother?"

She laughed to herself. "Why indeed. Wouldn't you like to know?" She smothered her lips in bright green lipstick. My face turned a shade of red.

"I think I should know about it. Not only do you have a clear motive, you actually admit to wanting you own mother dead. I think this is more than relevant."

She sniggered. "I don't want to turn my own defense attorney against me, now do I?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Y'know what? Screw this case. I'm not going to be your attorney. You make me sick. Even if you're not the murderer, you probably deserve every day of the rest of your life in jail anyway." I collapsed my briefcase and stood. "I'm leaving."

She yawned. "I've heard worse; goodbye, lawyer-boy."

"Really now. You're not going to quit on me now Gordon?"

The door opened before I could reach it, and Mike Angelo stepped into the room. "My first case against you and you back out? I know I'm good, but you could at least _try_."

I froze. "Uh… hey, Mike." I backed back into my chair. "So… you were assigned this case, huh?"

"Oh, what gave you that idea?" He smiled warmly.

I quickly glanced at Raley, who was busy looking at her fingernails. "Mike, do you know who that is?"

He straightened his tie. "Yes I do. But I'm not about to let personal feelings get in the way of the law." His face was unusually stern as he looked to the defendant, who didn't appear to notice him. "The same should go for you."

"Look," I chuckled a bit. "I'm not going to defend _her_. In my opinion, she should have been imprisoned years ago."

Mike turned his head to me and squinted his eyes. "Does she deserve it?"

I scratched the back of my neck. "Well, what are you asking me for? You're the prosecutor, so you obviously thinks she deserves it. Hell, I'll help you out, she pretty much admitted the whole thing to me anyway."

"Oh really now, resorting to lies, lawyer-boy? And I thought you could go no lower."

I turned behind me and pointed. "You're one to talk, why don't you be a good little suspect and shut the hell up."

She held her hand to her chest and looked surprised. She began to sweat a little. "W… Well! I'm starting to regret calling you."

"I already regret ever picking up the phone."

Mike gave me a dirty look. "That's no way to be talking to a lady, Gordon."

I smiled maliciously. "I wasn't talking to a lady, I was talking to _her_."

He frowned. "You go too far, Gordon."

"Lighten up man!" I got up and opened the door. "Me defend her? I have no idea why she'd think I'd ever do it in the first place."

She stood up. "I guess I was obviously mistaken in calling you." She looked to Mike and smiled. "You appear polite enough, why don't you be my attorney?"

He smiled. "Ah irony, you always had a sense of humor. I'm afraid I'm the one who will be putting you in prison, little lady."

"Anyway, I'm getting out of here." I opened the door wider and began to step out of the room when Mike grabbed my arm.

"Don't do this Gordon."

Our eyes met for a split second. "If you walk out that door you'll regret it. It shouldn't matter who your client is. If you hadn't known her from before, you would have taken her case."

I shook off his hand. "I can't convince myself that she's innocent."

He took a deep breath. "What about the Truth, huh? Don't you want to know what really happened?"

I closed my eyes. "For all I care, she fits into the whole murderer persona pretty well."

"But she said she didn't do it, didn't she?"

I bit my bottom lip. "But she pretty much admitted to saying that she wanted her dead, she even said she would have killed her anyway."

"But then there's a contradiction, isn't there?" He smiled. "The state says she killed her mother, she says she didn't. Do you see where I'm going here?"

I looked to the door. "Not really."

He shrugged. "What's the difference between her and your last client? Didn't he also say he didn't do it?"

"But that was different, he wasn't a narcissistic jackass."

Raley gasped from behind the glass. "Well I never…!"

Mike sighed. "I said before, you can't base personal bias on a court of law. You know what flies in court, you need evidence. Do you have proof that what you're saying is true?"

I opened my mouth, but I couldn't find anything to say.

"You can't prove it, it's impossible. You can't prove an opinion. So why are you denying her, when she needs a good attorney, when you'll accept to defend someone else. One person, need I remind you, who happened to be a killer in another case?"

I gulped. Was he… pressing me? "L-look, Mike. I can reject her if I want. I'm a human being, aren't I?"

He shook his head. "Is that all you have to say? I'm afraid the defense is lacking evidence, your honor." He nodded with a smile to the defendant. "I think it's time for a verdict, don't you agree, Ms. Vian?"

She clapped her hands happily. "Oh yes, Mr. Prosecutor. This court finds Gordon Truth guilty of being a narrow-minded and prejudiced pig." She slapped her desk like handling a mallet and winked at me with an evil grin.

I chewed on my lip, they got me. "It's the weekend, Mike. I deserve a break."

"I'm sorry," He was almost laughing to himself. "But I think I'll have to sentence you to defending duty for the lovely Ms. Vian here." He smiled to her and she smiled back.

"Pretty friendly with the accused, aren't we?"

He shrugged. "So, are you going to take the case?"

I rolled my eyes. "I don't think I'd hear the end of it if I said no."

"And you'd be right."

I shook his hand. "Fine, I'll do it. But I hope you know I'm still not convinced she's innocent."

He shrugged again. "Fine with me. Makes my case a whole lot easier to win." He placed a hand on the door handle. "Well, I believe my work is done here. If you need to discuss the case, feel free to call me up." He gave me a thumbs up and left the room.

I sighed. "That's the last time I let you convince me, Mike." I turned to my new client. "So, let's get down to business…"


	3. Chapter 3

What a week! I'm in the middle of writing a script for a big production for me and my friends this summer. It's going to be a short, comedy film about teenage superheroes with malfunctioning powers due to puberty. Anyway, filming has yet to begin, but expect it by the end of summer.  
Also, with Turnabout Enigma, I was a bit puzzled on how to advance it, but I think I've gotten over it. But if it goes the way I'm expecting it to, it's not going to be very long, and definetly not as long as Fall of the Turnabout. Anyway, this is merely the fist investigation, trials will start next chapter along with the guess-the-evidence sections. See you then!

--

"This place is so neat!"

Clara ran up to the elegant fence bars and grabbed onto them, her scarf fluttering in sync with the red and yellow leaves drifting from above. I brushed a hand through my hair. "Yeah, it's a nice place."

The gate to the Vian mansion was guarded by two police officers and a streak of yellow tape. Of course, the police were all over the place, it being a crime scene and all.

"Let's go in." I walked up to the gate while my sister followed.

"Sorry, access is denied." One of the officers barked under his cap without even looking at me.

I approached with a smug smile. Making sure my special glasses were on, I slowly touched his shoulder. He looked up at me with a grimace.

"Sorry, pal. But…" I took off my glasses and stared at the man, trying to hold a stern face. "I'm the defense attorney."

I couldn't keep it up; I lost it in the middle of 'attorney'. I laughed. "See what I did there? You watch CSI right? Oh yeah… that gets me every time…" I wiped my eyes and patted his shoulder, "Guess I'll see you around." And with that, I walked up to the gate while he looked to his buddy and shrugged.

The gate was huge; over four times my height, and that was saying something. As I pushed it open, an ominous creaking noise emanated from the rusted steel. Clara shivered and came closer to me. The mansion was equally, if not more impressive. Almost every edge was painted with a bright golden metal frame. The door was open, and flashes of cameras going off were audible. I approached the open door and rapped on it with my knuckles twice.

"Terry, you in here?"

A loud, strained, and obnoxious groan told me the answer. "Why do you always get the cases I'm in charge of?"

I smiled. "Because you're just so damn pretty, and I'm starting to miss seeing your bald spot every day at the scene."

"Oh what a charismatic character you turned out to be." He said, rolling his eyes. "You can sniff around all you want, but you're not going to find anything we've already gathered."

I looked at the foyer and whistled; it sure was impressive. Two glass chandeliers hung in front of the grand stairwell, which flowed upward to the second story in an elegant arc. Everywhere I turned, I found glass cabinets holding expensive-looking antiques and jewelry. I picked out my copy of the autopsy report from my briefcase.

"She was shot once fatally in the heart, is that right?"

Terry took another shot of the foyer, waving his last picture print in the air with his other hand to dry it off. "The girl must-"

"Before you answer that question, why are you taking pictures of a completely normal rich white girl's main foyer?" From the corner of my eye, I saw Clara sneak into the kitchen and open a cupboard, _is that girl ever not hungry?_

Terry sighed. "It's part of being a detective, I have to take a picture of every single thing in this house, just in case any of it has anything to do with tomorrow's trial."

I rubbed my chin. "Sounds boring, thickheaded, and useless." I shook my head and shrugged. "A man's only as good as his job, I suppose."

I could feel his ears get red. "Look, do you want to discuss case specifics, or do you want to screw around?"

I took a seat on a cushy formal dining chair. "Can it be both?"

He pocketed his Polaroid. "You were saying something about the autopsy report?"

I rubbed my head. "Yeah, I just noticed something. It says the victim was shot once fatally in the heart, right?"

"Yeah, you got a problem?"

"Not really, it's just that…" I took another look around. "The 'crime scene' looks a bit too tidy for the stage of a shooting."

Terry scrubbed his glasses with his shirt. "Well, that's because this isn't the crime scene." He pushed the now-cleansed eyepieces back on top of his nose. "The real crime scene is the victim's bedchamber."

I raised an eyebrow and puffed out an amused 'heh', "So they don't call it a bedroom anymore? So if the occupant happens to be rich; that automatically means it's a bed-_chamber?_"

"Don't play word-games with me, Gordon. I'm tired." He pushed his palm into his eyes, upsetting his glasses. "You can check it out if you want, I won't stop you."

"And it would be?"

"Down the hall and to the right, you can't miss it."

I stood up. "Oh, and you most likely know that the prosecutor and I are pretty chummy…"

He didn't care to look back to me. "I might have heard something along the lines."

"I hope you know that means we'll probably be sharing evidence, so withholding anything from me now won't really accomplish anything."

"No, but it will piss you off." He said, lifting his glasses to peer at me.

I blinked. "Touché, come on Clara, we have a crime scene to investigate."

I heard a muffled response from the kitchen. Apparently my sister had already made quick work of the pantry. "Spit it out, we don't have a lot of time."

"Awww… but they have Oreos!"

I lifted an eyebrow and leaned against the wall. "Is there any milk?"

"Yup!"

I grinned and rubbed my hands together. "Save some for me."

--

The bed sheets were still bloody, and the pillow was duly rumpled, implicating it had a head resting in it recently.

I large red satin master bed; no-one would regularly be able to see any bloodstains. Anyone besides me, of course, since I had my glasses on.

"Anything out of place?"

I took them off, "Not really; although you have multiple tumors on your pancreas."

I saw the terror shoot through her like electricity. Her eyes teared up and she grasped at her collar. "R-really?"

I frowned. "I can't trick a face as innocent as that. It was just a joke."

Her face turned red and she puffed out her mouth like a bull. "That's NOT funny!"

I stuck out my bottom lip and draped my right hand across her shoulders. "I'm sorry, that was really mean. Can you forgive me?"

She crossed her arms and looked away. "I don't know. Bye me more ice cream."

"Sure."

"Okay I love you again!" and she jumped up and gave me a hug.

I strode over to the personal bathroom. It was about the size of my entire apartment. A ridiculously large bath that looked more like a pool took up the most space. There was a showerhead seemingly out of place in the middle of the room; apparently the architects didn't seem to care about privacy. I found the sink and the drug-box next to me on the wall.

"Are you sure you should be rummaging through her personal stuff?" said Clara.

I turned my head. "She's dead."

Clara crossed her arms and puffed out her cheeks. "Subtle aren't we?"

I smiled. The drug box was almost to the point of bursting. Every kind of prescription medication that existed was probably wedged in here somewhere. I felt around and a purple bottle dropped onto the counter. I picked it up, prescription sleep medication. I studied the label, two tablets a night at approximately 7:30. Results in less than ten minutes. Extreme drowsiness. These drugs were a coma in tablet form.

"What is that, big brother?"

I flipped it around in my hand and smiled. "Evidence."

I took a digital camera out of my pocket and clicked at the drug box.

"What was that for, big brother?"

I headed back into the master bedroom. "Insurance."

She obviously didn't know what I meant, but I knew she didn't really care. Outside the bedroom door, I noticed a short nightstand to the right, next to the bed. On it stood a cup full of liquid and a small golden bell.

"Ooh! What's this?" said Clara, automatically going for the bell. She held it up and gave it a shake.

_ding-a-ling-a-ling _

I covered my ears. "That's a big ring for such a small bell."

"Of course, silly." She said, ringing it again. "It's one of those call-bells they used to call nurses when a patient needs help."

"A call bell, huh?" I remembered those from Saturday morning cartoons. I thought they didn't exist anymore. "This may be something to jot down." As I scribbled details into my court record, I stepped on something small and plastic.

"Hey, what's that?" Clara bent down and grabbed it from beneath my foot. She held it up and looked at the label. "Rat poison packet?"

"What?" My back straightened and I glanced to the packet she held. "Give it to me."

A small doodle of a dead rat on the floor with X's for eyes, with his tongue sticking out. What a kid-friendly way to advertise death.

"What does it mean?" Clara asked.

"It means." I slipped the packet into my pocket. "You better not drink from that teacup."

I saw Clara's expression change from curious to frightened as she peered to the cup on the nightstand like it was something alien.

I nodded toward the door. "Let's get out of here. There's still some stuff downstairs I'd like to check out."

On our way down, Terry looked up to me and smiled. "Hey, Gordon. I want to show you something."

I shrugged. "As long as it won't take very long."

He escorted me to the back of the house and to the back door, where there laid a small keypad embedded on the wall.

"What's this?"

Terry laughed to himself. "It's proof that the assailant came from the inside. You see, there were no break-ins of any sort, not even a picked lock, or this alert system would have made a note of it." He pointed to the keypad. "These doors are super-high tech with fingerprint readers, automatic locks; the works. As soon as the door closes, it latches shut, and only the fingerprint of a member of the family, or the butler can open it."

That reminded me. I pulled out my list of profiles. There were two people I haven't met yet; the daughter of Malady Vian and sister of Raley Vian, Missy Vian, and the butler for the establishment, Albert Reeves.

Terry looked smug. "So don't think about saying someone from outside committed the murder, because it was impossible for anyone foreign to the household to even be near the crime scene."

I turned to him with a stern face. "Was it?"

Terry's smile twitched. "Well, yes?"

"Anyway, where's the sister? I'd like to have a word with her."

Terry shrugged. "She's actually a witness, and is currently in solitary."

I looked back at my profiles. "What about the butler?"

Terry rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, you see…"

I knew he was hiding something. "Out with it Terry."

He sighed. "The butler's missing."

I jumped back, my eyes wide open. "What? Missing?"

"Look, don't make a big deal out of this, it's probably nothing."

"Nothing?" I was almost brimming with smiles. "On the night of his mistress' death, the butler goes missing? Why not just have a signed confession? This is great news!"

Terry shook his head. "There's no proof, and for all we know, he's probably somewhere far away fetching something for her."

I shrugged, trying to hide the initial excitement. "Whatever, we'll see at the trial tomorrow." I turned. "C'mon Clara, let's go."

"M'kay." She wrapped her hands around my arm and cuddled her head against my shoulder. "Are we going home?"

"Not yet." I whispered. "There's one person I have to visit first."

"Who?"

We made our way outside the mansion and past the gate. "My client. There's one last thing I want to be made clear, and visiting hours are almost over."

--

"I expect to hear some good news?"

Raley looked straight through me; I shuddered. "We'll see."

I told Clara to wait outside. No matter how much I cared for her, I wasn't about to let her hear what I was about to ask my client.

"There's one more thing we need to clear up before tomorrow's trial."

She quietly applied ice-blue balm to her lips. "And what may that be?"

"On my last visit here, you said something peculiar. Something that is currently making my job very hard."

She squinted one eye at me. "Where are you going with this?"

I spread my hands out on the table in front of me. "You pretty much admitted to wanting your mother dead. A clear admission of motive; but what could the motive be?"

She placed a fist on her hip. "I said this before. It's not important for you to know anything about it. Why don't you just rummage through evidence and find some way out of it for me. Don't they still accept the insanity plea?"

I bit my bottom lip. "You might be reluctant to tell me. But I think I may be able to get it out of you."

Her hand flew up to her chest and her mouth hung for a moment. "H-how could you possibly do something like that?"

I smiled and tapped my index finger on my head. "You said you wanted me to rummage trough evidence? Well, that's exactly what I'm about to do. What could your motive be for killing your own mother?"

She pushed her hand into her cheek, thinking hard. "I don't see where you're going with this. For all you know, she was a perfectly regular mother. I don't see how you can prove anything."

I raised an eyebrow. "Perfectly regular, you say? Take a look at a photo I took earlier today." I drew out my digital camera and showed her the photo of Malady's drug box, filled to the brim with medication. Raley took a look at the picture and twitched backward, her teeth striking together. Some of her reddish hair fell into her face, and she quickly pulled it back. "W-what is this? T-this doesn't prove anything!"

_A reaction like that is all the proof I need. _"There's only one way to get so much prescription medication, you'd have to be _really sick_."

Another sudden twitch, I was getting somewhere!

She straightened up on her chair. "So what does that mean? 'My mother was sick so I shot her'? I think you might want to make the insanity plea as well." She said, regaining her cold smile and stare.

"When a mother is sick, who does she depend on for nourishment?" I placed the call bell on the table. "See this? Does it ring any bells?"

She took one look and I saw it; a look of pure hatred. "Get that damn thing out of my sight." She said, looking away with an angry expression.

I smiled. "So you know what this is, do you? A call bell, used to summon assistance from trusted loved ones. Your mother was sick, so she used this call bell to get you to work for her, is that right?"

She kept looking away, but her face tightened. "So? What if I was a loving daughter who was glad to help a sick old woman recover from a rare disease? You think I wanted her dead because I was forced to wait on her hand and foot? What proof do you have?"

I sank into my chair; I was hoping it wouldn't have to come to this.

"What proof do you have that I had murderous intentions that night?"

I draped my hand across my face. "Ms. Vian, what I'm about to show you is a piece of evidence that will convict you more than any admission of motive. Did you have murderous intentions that night? I'll let this packet do the explaining for me."

I placed the packet of rat poison on the desk. "This was found on the ground next to the nightstand where a cup of tea rested. Her cup was poisoned that night. Why? Maybe a certain daughter didn't want to be made into a maid for the rest of her life." I watched her. At first she appeared angry, then she looked down, as if thinking about something.

"Did you do it? Did you poison her cup?"

She looked back up a me. "Maybe I did, and maybe I didn't. But what you've said is true. The reason I was angry at her was because how she forced me and my sister to be her slaves."

Her eyes began to tear up. "We grew up with her, and she was always trying to get us to do whatever she wanted. She was a control freak. No, more like a control _abomination_. My sister and I pretty much knew that she made up having this disease just so she could finally control us. And with a doctor's confirmation, we could be sued if we showed any signs of neglect."

A tear fell off her cheek. "It was a perfect plan. And I wanted nothing else but for the torment to end. But…" She held her hands together. "It wasn't me who pulled the trigger. I didn't shoot my mother."

I was silent for a moment to absorb the confession. "And what about the poisoned tea?"

She covered her face with her hands. "I-… I don't want to talk about it."

I frowned. "Well, I guess that's the best I can do for now." I pocketed the evidence I presented and closed my briefcase. "I'll see you at tomorrow's trial." I stood and left the room, holding my head with angst. This wasn't going to be an ordinary trial; Raley had made sure of that. On the taxi ride home, I formulated a plan. I still didn't believe my client was innocent, but I could probably make a good enough case at tomorrow's hearing.

We'll just have to wait and see.


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks again to all of my supporters! I've updated my profile with specific thank-yous for certain fans and friends. Read and enjoy!

--

"Have you seen Ben recently?"

I was sitting on the couch in the defendant lobby, quickly looking through my records. I was checking through the autopsy report one more time, 'victim was shot from about three feet away'. I slowly looked up to the person who was speaking, a rather worried-looking Mike Angelo.

"Shouldn't you be in the other lobby?"

He made a face. "What are you talking about? I came to talk to Ben about something; I thought he'd be here with you."

I looked around the lobby, thinking about it now; I was surprised he wasn't here. "Well, I haven't seen him for about a week, but he was on television a few days ago, right?"

"That's what I wanted to talk to him about." He rubbed his chin. "Have you heard about what he's doing with suspected members of NYM? I hear that he's just getting their cases as their defense attorney, then losing on purpose."

I looked up at him. "Is that even legal?"

"It probably would be if they can prove it, which they can't." He pulled at the side of the suit. "Anyway, I was going to tell him to stop, defense attorneys shouldn't need to get their hands dirty, they can leave it up to the DA and state prosecutors."

I shrugged. "That sounds like Ben; you know how much he hates NYM. He'd pretty much do anything to have them all imprisoned."

"He should stop messing around if he doesn't want to be imprisoned himself for obstruction of justice. Anyway, if he's not here, I should be going, the trial is going to start any minute."

"Yeah…" I gave the lobby one more hopeful skim. _Where are you Ben?_

"At least you have me!" said Clara, putting her hand on mine. "Are you ready to save a life?"

I shrugged. "Eh, why not?" I gave her a hug.

The bailiff burst through the door. "Sir, it's time to go."

I smiled. "I'm ready."

--

"Ms. Vian." I said as I took my seat at the desk.

"Lawyer-boy." She nodded and smiled to me. I rolled my eyes.

The audience was once again full of people. It wasn't every day the oldest member of the Vian Manor was murdered, with the suspect being her daughter. I could imagine the tabloids eating it up.

The mallet cracked. "Court is now in session for Ms. Raley Vian."

"The defense is ready, your honor." I said.

Attention shifted to Mike, on the other side of the courtroom. He yawned. "The prosecution is tired."

I raised my eyebrow at him. "Is that all?"

"No, I'm ready, but I'd rather not be. Couldn't we just do this tomorrow?"

The judge blinked. "W-what? Surely you're not suggesting-?"

He shook his head. "Not really. I simply enjoy making small talk. I'm ready to handle anything today, your honor."

"Well, that's good then." He coughed. "Anyway, are you going to make an opening statement?"

Mike nodded. "Why not?" He cleared his voice, then leaned over his desk and pointed to the Raley. "She's guilty."

The court was silent for about a minute. The judge blinked, "I-is that all you have to say?"

Mike was busy yawning. "What else is there to say? Really, does the court expect me to prove anything other than that?"

I rubbed the back of my head, "Actually, we've kind of gotten used to prosecutors giving long-winded speeches about how guilty the defendant is and how indefinitely they're going to prove it."

Mike laughed. "Well, as you can see Gordon, my name is Mike Angelo, and not Ian Vice. I handle things a little differently."

"He seems like he's got everything under control." Said Clara. "Just looking at him, It's like you can't argue with him. He looks like someone who's… right all the time." She said, smiling.

"I certainly hope not, for our sake." I pulled my hands into fists and spread them out over the desk. _Mike Angelo, I wonder how he'll be different from Ian. I look forward to sparring with him._

"Ah, and now to get things started." He said, "Let me call down an old friend of mine, the detective in charge of the crime scene. Would Terry Scours please take the stand?"

The balding, bespectacled detective made his decent to the front of the courtroom. He stumbled onto the witness stand and wiped his head, which was covered in sweat.

"So, Terry, how've you been?" started Mike.

"W-well, it's been-."

"Could you please," Mike interrupted, "begin with why we arrested the little lady over there?"

"O-oh, sure." He pulled out his papers and coughed into his hands. "Well then, where to begin?"

Mike yawned. "How about with the crime scene? What did you find there?"

"O-okay." He cleared his throat again. "So, we investigated the scene of the crime, which was the master bedroom where the victim sleeps every night." He threw a picture onto the front of his desk. "You can see it here. The body is in the bed, still covered in blankets." He held up a manila folder. "We found that the victim was shot directly in the chest, perfectly penetrating her heart. Unfortunately, the murder weapon has yet to be found. But we could tell from the bullet that it was a regularly sized revolver."

"Hmm… the lack of a murder weapon surely seems like it may complicate things." The judge smacked his gavel. "Well then, let's get this cross-examination over with, shall we?"

"Of course, your honor."

Clara grabbed my arm, "I think there's a LOT of things wrong with that testimony."

"Really?" I gave her a skeptical look. "I didn't see much of anything wrong. Actually, I found a lot of things _right _about it." I tightened my grip. "If there's no murder weapon, it'll be easier to feed them a red herring. So far, there's not much evidence against us."

I stood up and straightened my tie. "You're sure the bedroom is the scene of the crime?"

He rubbed his head. "Well, it's really common sense, right? If you want to kill someone, you might want to do it in their sleep, so they don't put up a fight. I think it's apparent that the victim was sleeping when she was killed."

I rubbed my chin. "When you say shot 'directly', 'perfectly penetrating' her heart, what exactly do you mean by it?"

"Umm…" he scratched the back of his neck. "Well… like the bullet hit her directly in the heart? Like, boom, straight in there. That's not hard to believe, is it?"

"It's definitely hard for me to believe, Mr. Scours!" I pointed to him. "Doesn't the autopsy report say the victim was shot from about three feet away?"

He looked at the ceiling, contemplating. "Well, yes, it does."

I walked up closer to him. "I find it hard to believe that you can shoot someone lying on their back from three feet away, and still 'directly penetrate' the heart! If the bullet hit the heart at all from that kind of distance, it would be at a noticeable angle!"

"Oh…" Terry seemed frozen. "I see…"

"Is this really a problem?" said Mike, drumming his fingers on his desk like keeping to an imaginary beat. "Don't you remember those Saturday morning cartoons? Sneaking around while someone is sleeping, you know the sound. Squeak… squeak… … 'SQUEAAAAK!!' And they wake up. Classic comedy, although it would be a lot more humorous in this scenario if the person sleeping hadn't been shot."

I rubbed my chin, "So, you're saying, that before she was shot, Malady Vian woke up, and sat up in bed?"

Mike shrugged. "See how it would complete your little angle theory? She pulls up to see who's sneaking around in her room; and at that moment, the defendant panics."

I shook my head. "It's nice seeing you try to fill up holes in the testimony. But your little explanation is impossible. Take this!"

I took the bottle of sleep medication and slammed it onto my desk. "As you can see, this is an extremely strong sleep medication called Nokowt Tablets. It induces a drugged slumber only ten minutes after ingestion, a drugged slumber that lasts, for about eight hours! As you can see, it was impossible for the victim to wake up! The contradiction still stands!"

Mike shook his head. "Just because she has this medication doesn't mean she took it that night."

"Well, I thought of that." I said, smiling. "If you consider the date that the medication started being administered with the fact that she was instructed to take two tablets every night, the numbers completely match! She took two tablets every night, and that includes the night of her murder!"

Mike yawned, fanning his mouth with his hand as he did so. I stared at him for what seemed like hours, my eye began to twitch.

"W-well? What do you have to say to that?"

"What do I have to say?" he said, tapping his fingers. "How about, 'so what'?"

"H-huh?" Sweat began dripping off my face.

"What did you prove with that deduction, Gordon? Hmm? Tell me."

"W-well…" I slammed my fist onto the desk. "If she was shot both directly in the heart, and from about three feet away; that means… that… she was… awake when she was shot?"

Mike smiled. "When on the label does it say that she should take the medication?"

I quickly glanced down to the medication bottle. "Er… seven thirty?"

"And the medication knocks out the patient in only ten minutes. But the victim was still awake when she was shot, so that means that the murder happened from 7:30 to 7:40."

I held my head. "Umm… Yes! That's exactly what it means!" I yelled, pointing to the prosecution.

"Well." He said, smiling. "Thank you for a more accurate time of death. But that is all you've proven. Nothing else."

"Umm…" I laid both hands on the desk, "really? That's it?"

"That's it. Of course, I already knew that the victim was awake and standing when she was shot."

"W-what?" I banged my hands on the desk. "How could you have possibly noticed that?"

Mike laughed. "Actually, I'm surprised you didn't pick up on it. See this picture of the crime scene?" he said, holding it up. "The body is covered in blankets, but if the victim was indeed shot in her sleep, there should have been a **bullet hole** in the blankets. Which, there isn't."

My face twitched.

"Actually," said Clara, "when I said there was a lot of things wrong with that testimony, I was talking about there not being a bullet hole in the blankets too."

I slapped myself in the face, sweat dripping off my cheeks. "Someone could have mentioned this sooner!"

Both Mike and Clara shrugged.

"What I didn't know about, was these sleeping pills." Mike walked over to my desk and picked up the prescription bottle. "These Nokowt Tablets will indeed induce a slumber too strong to be awakened by any force known to man. Because of this evidence, we now have a much more accurate time of death. Of course, the only other thing that we can deduct is that the detective force has grown a little incompetent."

Terry's face grew red.

"Before we continue," began the judge, "I have a question for the prosecution."

Mike continued drumming his fingers. "Shoot."

"I have a document on my desk here. It says that the defendant, Raley Vian was only one of three other people living in the manor besides the victim…"

Mike crossed his arms. "Yes, and?"

"Well…" The judge furrowed his brow in thought. "Doesn't that mean that there are actually two other suspects? If the murder weapon was never found, how do you propose to tell us how you narrowed it down to this young lady here? If I didn't know any better… I should see three defendants in the courtroom!"

The audience began to murmur slightly.

Mike yawned, "I do not fault you at all for thinking that. After all, the sister; Missy Vian, shares her sister's motive."

"Oh really!" the judge blinked in surprise. "That's surprising. Er… what was the motive again?"

Mike began placing documents on his desk. "Malady Vian, our victim, was very sick with a rare disease called . I have the doctor's note here, in fact your honor." He gave a signed paper to the bailiff to deliver to the judge.

"Let's see here… Dr. Nost. This certainly looks like the real deal. Note submitted into evidence!" he said, handing it back to the bailiff. "Incidentally, what was the disease called?"

Mike put a hand up to his cheek. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure. I think it's one of those diseases that are so rare that that **aren't even named**."

"Anyway," said the judge, shaking his head. "You were explaining something."

"The motive is simply that the mother worked them to hard. In fact, they probably believed that their mother was faking being sick in order to control them. When you consider the family history, it doesn't seem unlikely."

"Yes… the motive that the sister's shared, but that still doesn't explain why…"

"Why the others weren't considered to be the killers, right?" Mike looked to the detective, still shaking on the stand. "Maybe I'll have my friend testify as to why that is. Terry? Would you be so kind?"

Terry fiddled with his glasses. "Umm… sure. Actually, it's quite simple." He took out a photo from the mansion. "The victim was under a heavy sickness, and she forced her daughters to care for her. This is a photo of the schedule that the daughter's were following, posted on the refrigerator in the kitchen."

I was handed a copy of the photo. _Looking at this, there doesn't seem to be a single moment that any of the sisters weren't catering to their mother or doing some sort of household chore._

"Why did the sister's stand for any of this?" I brought my hands back down to the desk. "It's a fact that Raley was old enough to live on her own. Why would she cater to her mother's ridiculous wishes?"

"I wouldn't drive this point to far." I jumped, I had forgotten that Raley was sitting next to me. "You see, my sister and I both wanted that house, and if it was a fact that she were going to die, she'd pass it to one of us."

"Oh…" I rubbed my face, sweat glistening on my forehead. "Maybe you should have brought that up sooner…"

"Not only that…" Mike had his left hand resting on his hip. "But let me remind you, Malady had a doctor's note that said she had a rare disease. If the daughters showed any signs of neglect, she could have them sued or arrested on the spot."

"Oh…" I rubbed my face again. "Maybe you should have brought that up sooner too…"

Mike shrugged. "Anyway, as you can see, at exactly 7:25, Raley is instructed, according to this schedule, to bring her mother a cup of tea in her bedroom."

"Well, that's not very conclusive…" said the judge. "According to the autopsy report, the time of death could have been anytime between 7:00 and 7:50pm, which was when the crime was reported."

Mike laughed. "But remember what our defense attorney proved earlier."

"_If she was shot both directly in the heart, and from about three feet away; that means… that… she was… awake when she was shot?"_

The judge blinked in surprise, "But if she was shot while she was still awake… that would mean…?"

"Remember this bottle of sleeping drugs?" Mike shrugged. "It was proven that she took her tablets that night, meaning that the time of death had to have been after 7:30, and since she was still awake when she was killed, that means that the time of death had to have been before 7:40, which would be when the drug took effect, causing her to fall asleep."

The court was silent.

"May I remind the court," he added, "that it was the defense attorney, Gordon Truth, who brought this fact to light."

"Ahh!" I broke down, my hands covering my face. "He tricked me! Ever since I pressed the detective, I've been playing right into his trap!"

"If I didn't know any better," said Raley nonchalantly, "I'd say that you and Mr. Angelo there switched roles, and I'm sitting on the wrong side of the room."

"Please don't rub it in…"

Clara patted me on the back. "It's alright Gordon, I'm sure we can recover…"

"Well I've definitely seen enough," said the judge. "The court sees no reason to further continue this trial. I'm ready to hand down a verdict."

"WHAAAT!!" My arm flew in front of me, as if to block an oncoming punch. "WAIIIT!! I O… O-O-OBJECT!!"

Clara looked down to her shoes. "I guess not."

The judge shook his head. "I'm sorry, but no amount of stuttering is going to change my mind."

The court was deathly silent, it took all of my strength to keep myself from crying, although my eyes were definitely watering up. I couldn't take I anymore, I let my head fall to the desk.

"Is it really over? Have I finally lost?" I said in shock, grasping at my hair.

Clara gave me a huge hug. "You did your best, big brother. I don't think Ms. Vian could have gotten a better attorney." She smiled.

"Like I said before we began…" said Mike, still drumming his fingers. "She's guilty."

I wiped my nose, _so this is what defeat feels like… _

Clara suddenly stood up, a look of defiance on her face. "Wait your honor! What about the butler? I didn't see a schedule for him in the photo!"

Mike cleared his throat. "The butler is irrelevant. Unless I can see any supporting evidence that the butler might have killed his mistress, this court cannot accept that as a possibility. As they say about the Nancy Drew series… it was never the butler."

"But he's gone missing!" yelled Clara, "don't you think that might have something to do with it?"

Mike shook his head. "Again, lacking evidence. He might simply have spent the night at a bar, been invited quite suddenly to a butler convention…"

I rubbed my sweating head. _Do they even have butler conventions?_

Clara was on her last leg. "W-what about the second sister?"

"Take another look at the photo of the schedule." He said. "As you can see, from 7:00 to 7:40, she's supposed to be walking the dog. We have plenty witnesses who tell us that she was indeed walking the dog around the local park at this time."

Clara shuddered and sat down. "Well, I tried."

I lifted my head. "And you did great. But I guess it's a lost cause."

The audience was exchanging conversation behind me, apparently they were satisfied with the deduction. I turned to Raley Vian, my client, who was more nervous than I had ever seen her, and said the two phrases Benjamin Bell instructed me to say to my client should I fail to win their case.

They were. "Everything is going to be alright," and "I'm sorry."

"Well, if we're finished, its time I handed down my verdict."


	5. Chapter 5

Hooray for cliffhangers! Also, I'm continuing the whole guess-the-evidence thing at the end of the chapter. Hope you all enjoy!

--

"The court finds the defendant, guil-."

"**OBJECTION!**"

It was the loudest objection I had ever heard, Clara almost jumped in surprise, the judge blinked rapidly, and even the detective looked like he was on the verge of fainting. The audience began mumbling angrily at the sudden outburst.

"Your honor, I'm not finished yet."

The judge seemed frozen. "What? B-but Mr. Angelo, I was about to rule in your favor!"

Mike didn't move, his face showed no emotion. "But isn't it a rule of the court to allow all sides of the story to be revealed?"

The judge shook his head in confusion. "Well, I suppose so. But…"

"There was a witness to the crime, and I want that person to testify to us." He began drumming his fingers again.

"R-really?" The judge looked around the entire courtroom. "I had no idea!"

"That's because I had her wait in the prosecution lobby… just in case I needed her.

The judge sighed. "Very well, call them up to the stand."

Mike nodded. "Sure thing. Terry please step down and allow Missy Vian to take the stand!"

I found my voice. "Wait! Doesn't the schedule say that she was gone until 7:40, which was after the murder?"

Mike shook his head. "Why don't we wait and see what she has to say."

I stood straight up again. Brushing the hair out of my eyes, I mouthed _thank you._

_No problem _he mouthed back.

Terry left the stand and the courtroom in a dash. The doors opened and someone who looked ridiculously like her sister entered. She quietly took the stand, and began chewing on a strand of her hair.

She wore a fur jacket like her sister, although hers had a hood. Her hair was shorter and redder, and she appeared to enjoy chewing on strands of it. She lacked the vicious aura that her sister embraced so thoroughly.

The judge closed his eyes. "Well, I don't see how this can help the prosecution's case when I'm already sure about the defendant's guilt. I really don't see how this is necessary."

Mike shrugged. "I'm an attorney, I live for needless procedures."

I scratched the back of my head. Hadn't I heard that line somewhere before?

The judge shook his head. "But it is a fair rule that all sides of the story must be told. In that case, please go on with your testimony, Ms. Vian."

She continued chewing on her hair, "Do I have to testify against my sister?"

I saw Raley's nose wrinkle. "That little faker, we despised each other."

The judge nodded. "If you indeed did witness the crime, it would be your duty to the court to reveal what you saw."

Missy looked down to the stand and stopped chewing on her hair. "I… guess I should…"

Mike nodded. "That's right. Now please enlighten us. You should start with your name and occupation."

"O-okay." She tried her best to smile. "My name is Missy Vian, and I'm, well… a daughter?" Her cheeks turned a shade of red as she smiled to the audience. "Well… I came home a little later than I was supposed to. B-but as soon as I entered the house… I heard a gunshot!" She grimaced, and sweat began forming on her forehead. "I-it sounded like it came from our mother's room! And right after that, I saw my sister run out of her room, and I think she was holding a gun!" She began breathing deeply to calm herself down.

The judge raised an eyebrow. "Again, this is incriminating, but I still don't see how this changes anything."

"At least she got to testify." Mike said.

The judge nodded. "Very well, Mr. Truth, you may begin your cross-examination."

I nodded and stood. "Of course, your honor." I walked toward the witness, holding my hands together behind my back. "You are Ms. Raley Vian's sister, and the daughter of Malady Vian, correct?"

She nodded.

"If that is so, then do you share the motive of your sister? Did you not also want your mother dead?"

Her face flushed immediately, she turned away. "I don't feel exactly how my sister feels, now do I? If she wanted to kill mom, that doesn't mean I did."

"Well then, on to your testimony." I rubbed my chin. "You were out walking the dog, correct?"

She nodded. "Like it said for me to do on the schedule."

"But you say that you were a little late? How late do you suppose?"

"Umm…" she counted fingers off of her hand. "About five minutes, maybe. I remember looking at my watch before I entered the house, and I think it said… '7:43'."

"Really?" I began pacing in front of her. "And you are sure that what you heard was a gunshot?"

She bit her knuckle. "I've never actually heard a real gunshot before, just on television. But since I saw her come out of our mother's room with a gun…"

"About that…" I came closer to her, placing my hands on the stand. "Did you know that the murder weapon has yet to be recovered?"

Her eyes darted left and right. "No, I didn't know that."

"So then…" I turned my back to her and began walking away from the stand. "Perhaps you could help us," I turned my head so that she could see the left side of my face. "Do you have any idea as to where the murder weapon might be?"

She began sweating. "I'm not sure. There aren't very many places to hide a weapon in our house, I doubt that we even had a gun in the first place."

I turned around and addressed the judge. "This is indeed a strong testimony, but there is one problem, something that makes me doubt it's relevance."

"Really?" The judge blinked. "Perhaps you could let us know what this evidence may be?"

"It's simple your honor, didn't we just rationalize that the murder could only have happened between 7:30 and 7:40?"

Missy gasped. "W-what? But I read the autopsy report! It said the murder could have happened anytime between 7:00 to 7:50!"

"It's too bad that you were in isolation during our little cross-examination with the detective. Let me show you what I mean." I placed the bottle of narcotics on my desk. "I believe the court needs no introduction. Due to the angle of the bullet, the victim was awake when she was shot. And due to these tablets, that only could have been during the ten-minute interval between 7:30 and 7:40!"

Missy tore some of her hair out with her mouth. "N-no!"

"What do you have to say to that, Missy?" I pointed my finger to her. "According to your testimony, you should have arrived _after _the shooting, and you wouldn't have seen anyone leaving your mother's room either!"

Her face began to turn red.

"What are you hiding, Missy?" I shouted. "Your testimony, as expected, is chock full of lies!" I smiled and crossed my arms. "Well?"

Suddenly, I felt Clara tapping my shoulder. "Gordon, isn't this testimony the only think keeping the judge from declaring a verdict?"

I raised an eyebrow. "I guess, why?"

"Well," she looked toward my client. "Don't you think that if you completely run her testimony out of the record, then there won't be anything to stop the judge from declaring Raley guilty!"

My eyes widened. "I-I guess you're right. I should be less hard on her…" I cleared my throat. "Y-yes! You were lying in your testimony, Ms. Vian, but you also have some way of thinking it was your sister. It was proven that you were away from the house while your mother was shot, so I'm not going to be accusing you of anything anytime soon. Tell me, why do you think it was your sister?"

Her anger appeared to let up. "Umm…" She began chewing on her hair again. "Well, Raley would always tell me how much she hated our mother, and she told me many times that she would be better off dead, she even said a few times that she would be the one to kill her…"

"Is this the only reason?" I asked.

"Well, no…" she chewed at her hair again. "She, uhh… told me earlier that day that she was going to end it. She told me she wasn't going to take it anymore. She was going to do her in, with a gun!" She leaned forward, a look of worry on her face.

I sighed. "With a gun, huh?" I looked toward my client, who avoided my gaze. "This is… well… interesting."

The judge noticed me looking toward my client. "Mr. Truth, is there something you want to say to the court?"

I looked to the judge, then back to my client. "Well, that depends your honor. On one side, what my client and I discuss behind closed doors do not have to be revealed. But on the other hand, sometimes this information can be beneficial for the case."

I looked to my client again, but she still didn't return the pleasure. I sighed.

"There is a problem with the testimony, your honor. I'm not sure if what Missy is saying is the truth, or a lie. But no matter what, there's still something that confuses me."

Mike yawned. "I see no problem, Gordon. Perhaps, if you know what this 'confusing' thing is in her testimony, perhaps you could show us some evidence to show us what you mean."

I hesitated. "Well…" I took one last look toward my client, who was covering her head with her arms, a pose I wasn't unfamiliar with.

I sighed. "I guess I have no choice." I placed my manila folder on the desk. "There is some evidence that shows what's so confusing about the testimony."

_Evidence List: Attorney Badge; Autopsy Report, Photo of Crime Scene, Photo of Drug Box, Strong Narcotics, Rat Poison Packet, Call Bell, Chore Schedule, Cup of Tea, Door Locking Mechanism._

_Profile List: Clara Truth, Mike Angelo, Benjamin Bell, Raley Vian, Malady Vian, Terry Scours, Albert Reeves, Missy Vian_


	6. Chapter 6

What a great week this has been! I'm shooting a movie I wrote the script for, I'm writing a story that I'm REALLY happy with, and people are FINALLY READING MY STUFF!! Anyway, thanks for clicking on my little story.  
This is probably one of my shortest, but most interesting chapters. Hope you enjoy!

--

I held the evidence in my hand. I crunched it up, keeping it hidden. Sighing, I closed my eyes and tilted my head down. "Before I present this, I understand that this might put my client in a negative light. However, I'll have the court know, that I still am completely certain in my client's innocence. This was recovered at the scene of the crime." I threw the rat poison packet onto my desk.

"It looks like a packet of ketchup," Mike leaned over his desk, smiling.

I held my hand up to my ear. "I'm afraid it's far worse than ketchup." I pounded on my desk. "It's a lethal poison!"

Mike grabbed his desk by the edges and his head flew backwards, his eyes showing what looked like fear. This was the first time I had seen him surprised. "W-what? Poison?"

I leaned forward. "It was on the ground, next to the cup of tea on the nightstand."

Mike rubbed his chin. "Yes… poison in the tea, it makes sense! It says here in the schedule that she was supposed to bring it to her mother!" He smiled. "Care to make your client seem even more guilty?"

I pounded my desk. "Did the autopsy report have any trace of poison?"

Mike almost turned white. "Oh…"

I pointed. "Like we said before, she had a motive! She may have been planning to poison her mother, but someone beat her to it! And with a gun, no less."

Mike threw his fists down on his desk. "That doesn't disprove anything we've already concluded!"

I shook my head. "Really now Mike, I'm starting to think you're losing your cool. Look, if you're going to poison somebody, why would you shoot them before they even ingest it?"

Mike didn't say anything, although he looked distressed.

The judge looked down to me. "But this definitely proves something; at the least… your client in guilty for attempted murder!"

The audience began stirring with mixed conversation. I held up my hands. "Perhaps, but she didn't land the killing blow."

Mike pounded his desk again. "Well then, why don't you tell us who didland the killing blow, or in this matter, actually shot the victim?"

Gears began turning in my head while the courtroom seemed to blacken away. Who really shot Malady Vian? I probably didn't know the answer. Actually, I was pretty sure that I didn't have enough information to make an accurate guess. It's a good thing there isn't a lot of incriminating evidence, this may be the perfect opportunity to feed them a red herring, just so I could get another day of investigation.

"I don't have any real supporting evidence, but from what I've heard and seen, the butler appears more guilty than anyone else!"

Mike shook his head. "The butler again? Look, you can't accuse without…"

"Objection!" I slammed my fist into the desk. "The butler is missing! And if he isn't the culprit, then he must be a pretty decisive witness!" I pointed to the witness stand. "I think that we should send a search party after this butler, on suspicion of the murder of Malady Vian!"

Mike's eyebrow twitched. "I just said you can't accuse…"

"Who's accusing?" I crossed my arms. "He's a suspect only. But whether he's the killer or not, he still must be found so he can testify!"

Mike's fist twitched. "This still does nothing to disprove the defendant's guilt!"

I pointed to him. "The poisoned tea and the gunshot wound are contradictory! Again, why would you shoot someone right before you poison them?"

The judge looked to the ceiling. "After hearing both the defense and the prosecution giving their thoughts, I believe I'm going to have to side with the defense. This butler character must be found before the trial can continue. Also, the cup of tea and the bullet wound are indeed contradictory. While the search party is investigating this butler's disappearance, I call on both the prosecution and the defense to investigate deeper into the case. The trial will reconvene tomorrow at 10:00." And with a swing of the mallet, it was over.

"At least for today," Clara reminded me.

I wiped my forehead; I was under a ton of pressure, but I managed to pull through. I got my head close to Clara's ear. "Let's get out of here."

She nodded. I turned to my client, who was still laying her head on her desk. "Are you alright, Ms. Vian?"

She lifted her head. For some reason, I was expecting tears. Maybe at how valiantly I fought for her freedom, maybe at all the trauma I was forced to endure for her sake. But no, what I saw was a face of pure fury.

"_I didn't poison my mother you idiot!"_

I flinched backwards. "W-w-w-what?" I covered my mouth in an instant. "No, wait! I mean… I knew that! I think… you really didn't?"

"NO!" She stood and put her face in mine. "What would give you that idea?"

My face turned red, and I stood up to. "Maybe when you so much as admitted to it yesterday in your cell!"

"I didn't admit to anything!"

"You said 'maybe I did, maybe I didn't'!"

"THAT'S SUPPOSED TO BE A SUAVE WAY TO SAY I DIDN'T!"

I pounded my desk. "OBJECTION!"

"Don't you object to me lawyer-boy!"

Suddenly, I saw her running for me, and my biggest priority became backing away from the rampaging woman. A sudden pain shot through my left leg. I barely had time to notice that I had caught it in the leg of my chair when I started going down. I landed on my back with a thump, angrily cursing the air. Apparently, Raley hadn't time to see the chair suddenly on its side in front of her. She dived over it, her face changing from terror to fright. I saw what was coming, and I tried to inch away, but my crawling was in vain as she suddenly made contact with my body, and despite all chances, our lips touched.

"GORDON!!" Clara held her hand up to her mouth. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING? GET UP!"

It was like dunking my face in a bucket of ice water; one of the people I hated the most struggling on top of me. I threw her off and wiped any trace of her off my lips. We stared at each other with faces of utmost terror.

"What do you think you're doing?" I yelled, jumping up to a standing position.

She muffled her voice with her hand. "I don't know! It was an accident!"

My eye twitched, "You can't just up and attack your attorney!"

"You accused me of murder!"

"It was the only way to get you off the hook!"

She slapped my cheeck. I held my hand to it and yelped like a dog. "What the hell was that for!"

She slapped my other cheeck. "That was for trying to kiss me!"

My hand itched to slap her back. "I DIDN'T TRY TO KISS YOU! YOU FELL ON TOP OF ME! Right?" I turned to Clara, who was apparently too stunned to answer.

I turned to Raley. "Why would I kiss you? I HATE you!"

"And you DISGUST me!"

We both turned away from each other, our hair and faces dripping with sweat and our breathing heavy with stress. It quickly became apparent that nobody had left the courtroom yet. All of the audience's eyes were on me. I looked across the room and saw Mike biting his tongue, smiling with squinting eyes and giving me the thumbs up. The judge blinked in surprise.

"The defense will refrain from er… making out with the defendant. I believe that is what the kids are saying these days, isn't it?"

"O-objection!" I bellowed to the court. "She fell on top of me! It's HER fault!"

Missy's mouth was hanging open from the stand, she seemed frozen in place. Suddenly I heard what sounded like a loud sob. I spun around to face the audience; one person was standing near the back row. Her face was covered with tears, and her face was bright red. She had beautiful curly brunette hair and matching eyes. A large white lab coat could be seen draped over her shoulders. My eyes widened, I hadn't even noticed that Judy Ryut had come to see me in court today. My right hand pushed into my eye, messing up my hair.

She gave another powerful cry and ran out of the courtroom. I felt like my insides were caught in a whirrling torrent. "Now that's just bad timing."

"You're screwed, man." Mike laughed from the other side of the courtroom. "That was Judy, wasn't it?"

Without a look or word to anyone, I quickly grabbed Clara's hand and ran back to the defense lobby.

"Are we going after her?" said Clara, obviously uneasy.

"I turned to look at her with extremely wide eyes. "_HELL_ no! You think I'd risk my life trying to talk to Judy when she's like this?? I'll tell you where we're going, we're going _home_. As fast as we can."

"But, why?"

"OH LIKE YOU DON'T KNOW?? I just got to first base with Satan's second cousin!!"

"That… that doesn't make any sense…" She said as we ran out of the wooden double-doors.

"YOU DON'T MAKE ANY SENSE!!" I said in a crazed stupor. I quickened my pace and shouted for a taxi. I threw some bills at him and yelled, "JUST DRIVE!!"

The tires spun and made a whirring noise as we sped away from the courthouse.


	7. Chapter 7

Yeah, mixed reactions to the last chapter. I understand where you guys are coming from. Hopefully this chapter (and the next) will be so good it'll get your mind off of it. But yeah, without the last chapter, this entire case would be a whole lot duller.

Anyway, hope you enjoy!

--

_Dear Judy_

_You may be wondering why I'm writing you a letter, let me explain.  
This way, I can tell you what REALLY happened without you instantly retorting and making me forget what I was supposed to say. So I didn't call you cause… of that._

_Sorry, I'm not that good at writing letters. But I'm not just going to email you either, cause then you can reply almost instantly while you're still angry and you'll probably hurt my feelings._

_But that doesn't mean I don't care about your feelings! No… I mean… your feelings are why I'm writing this letter in the first place. See, if I DIDN'T care about you at all, I wouldn't have been, like, totally torn apart inside when I saw you cry and stuff… But that kinda means that YOU cared about me if you cried anyway…_

_Yeah, what were YOU crying about anyway? I'm single, I'm available, and girls like me. So what are you so cry-ish about? I can kiss whoever the hell I want!_

_Ok… sorry, I'd erase the above paragraph if I hadn't chewed the eraser off this pencil. I chew stuff when I get nervous. See? I'm nervous, and I just proved it, I guess. If I'm nervous that means I REALLY care about what I'm saying. So I care about what I say to you… Um, sorry. This is why I'm bad at talking._

_Ok, I guess you want to know what happened, right? Okay, she was going to KILL me because I just told the court she was intending to kill her mother, right? So she gets all insult-y on me (but you know Raley, she's ALWAYS insult-y. So when I say insult-y that means REALLY insult-y). Only that wasn't great because I tripped over a chair, then she jumped over it and landed on me and our lips touched. See? No kissing whatsoever. You know I don't like her._

_Okay, the more I try to explain this the more bizarre it seems. Really, what are the chances that she'd land on me and our lips would touch? See? It's totally ridiculous; I don't even see what we're making such a big deal out of if it was just a mistake. If someone was going to land on me and our lips would touch, I would totally prefer it if it were you._

_That doesn't mean I want to get together with you! I'm just trying to be nice, I think. Like your hair. You have nice hair, and I like your jacket. White is totally my thing. Really… smart color. And your glasses are good looking, you do wear glasses, right? No wait, you wore them in high school. But your hair is curly, I like curly. But I don't LIKE it like it. I think it makes you… um… prettier. But in a totally casual, non-romantic way._

_So, yeah. I feel guilty and it was a mistake, and I felt bad when you cried so… that's it, I guess._

_Oh yeah, and I'm sorry about putting your boyfriend in jail._

_Gordon_

It wasn't until I finished the letter that I realized that I didn't know Judy's mailing address. Maybe if I just called Ken… but they probably confiscated his phone. And I had the slightest feeling that he wouldn't really want to talk to me at the moment. I sighed.

"Big brother! Hurry, help me!"

Clara was in trouble! I dashed from the dining table into the guest room, which was pretty much her room now. She wasn't inside, but I saw a light coming from the semi-open bathroom door.

"What's wrong Clara?"

"I fell asleep eating a popsicle and it melted all over my face!"

I was struck by the sudden, random dialogue. "What?"

She opened the door with a look of panic. The bathroom sink was running, and there was soap on her face. I stared at her for a second, her entire face had turned blue, and her expression of horror made me bite my tongue.

"Don't you dare laugh!" She puffed out her cheeks at me, which only made it so much more classic. I couldn't help it; I exhaled and began laughing so hard I had to sit down to keep myself from fainting.

"Oh!" She said in frustration. She slammed the door shut and ran back to the sink to ravage the color from her face.

A sudden rumbling came from my pocket. I pulled out my cell phone and flipped it open. "Gordon Truth, attorney at law speaking."

"Ah good Gordon, it's you."

I smiled. "Well if it isn't the almighty prosecutor who let the day's victory slide?"

He laughed. "You still owe me for that. Anyway, I wanted to ask about your client, or should I call her your bride-to-be?"

I went red in the face. "Look, it was an accident, alright? We both tripped and…"

"So you both tripped at the same time, and both happened to land in the exact same spot, so that your lips _directly _touched for…"

I bit my lip. "I know it sounds ridiculous…"

"It _is _ridiculous. Just admit that you're freaky for her and I'll let it go."

I blinked, "Can we stop this, please? You know her, Mike. I hated her… like, a lot."

"Not as much as Theodore, evidently."

My eyes widened. Theodore? It had been so long since I heard that name. The one person who's life I had completely ripped to shreds. The man I _killed…_

The silence didn't go by unnoticed. "What, too soon to mention it?" he joked.

My face went pale. "I think I'm going to be sick…"

He sighed. "Listen to me. I know your little girlfriend didn't poison her mother…"

I grabbed the phone in a choke-hold. "SHE IS NOT MY GIRLFRIEND!!"

Mike was getting frustrated. "Look, after today's trial, I came across some evidence that proves Raley didn't poison Malady. I'd like you to come take a look at it, and we'll talk about the case a bit. Just come over to the prosecutor's office, my door's open. Just come by."

I wasn't listening. A sudden idea struck me. "Do you have Judy's phone number?"

He was taken aback. "You want to call her?" He breathed into the phone for few seconds. "Don't tell me you're going to _cheat _on your new girlfriend with your ex?" He laughed.

I grabbed the phone with both hands. "I SWEAR I am coming over to your fancy-shmancy little office, and I am going to pound the crap out of you."

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

"And no, I don't want to call her. I was hoping you could call her and er… put in a good word for me."

I couldn't see it, but I knew he was shrugging. "I guess I could see what I can do."

"Ok, erm, thanks."

"Sure thing."

I clicked off my phone. "Clara, are you going to be much longer?"

The door flew open, and my sister stomped out; her face almost completely covered with a brown scarf wrapped around her head. "I'm ready!"

I held my hand up to my mouth to hide my smile. "Maybe you should stay home for this one…"

"NO!" She punched me in the shoulder. "I'm coming with you! I'll do whatever it takes to get your girlfriend off the hook!"

I groaned and buried my face in the pillow. Were two people suddenly tripping and touching lips so hard to believe?

"So, where are we headed first?"

I scratched my head. "Well, we could go back to the scene of the crime, we could go visit Mr. Angelo…"

"Mr. Angelo?" Said Clara, suddenly clenching her hands together with stars in her eyes. "You mean we can actually go see him? Isn't he dreamy?"

I looked around the room. "Who are you talking to? If you haven't noticed I play for the home… no wait, that means gay doesn't it?" I rubbed my chin. "So I play for the away team? Is that baseball-innuendo for straight?" I shook my head. "Look, I'm never, ever in my life going to think that Mike is 'dreamy'. If anything, he's an idiot who's about to get his ass whooped."

"Aw…" She held her hand to her chest. "Why do you always have to be so mean?"

"What are you saying? I'm not mean." I said, raising an eyebrow.

"But, you're so mean to poor little Terry!" She said, tears welling in her eyes.

I laughed. "Terry? Look, he doesn't really count."

She grabbed my hand and dragged me out of the room. "We're leaving, I don't want to hear another WORD from you, Mr.!"

I managed to grab my suitcase as we flew out the door. "Let's start at the crime scene then!"

--

"Say it Gordon!" Clara looked fierce enough to drive the strongest man over the edge.

I mumbled inaudibly, but Clara only slapped my shoulder, "So we can hear you!"

I rolled my head so that I was looking directly into Terry's face. "I'm sorry that I'm a big, fat, meanie head."

Terry's eyes almost glazed over. "That's some sister you've got there."

I turned to her and put on my best fake smile. "Okay, I feel better now, why don't we race to see who can get to the crime scene first?"

"Sweet!" She threw her purse into my arms and took off. I dropped the purse onto the ground and looked to Terry. "She was going to kill me if I didn't say that."

He smiled. "And I'm sure glad you did."

"Anyway," I said, brushing my shoulders, "that doesn't mean I meant any of it."

"I know, but it was still fun to hear you actually live up to your name."

I raised an eyebrow. "My name? What, you mean Gordon?"

"No… no Truth! By living up to your name I meant finally speaking the truth!"

I blinked. "Did you just… try to burn me?"

Terry shook his head. "Whatever… just… go and do your… things you do."

I nodded and looked toward the house. "Oh, before I head in, any news from the search party?"

Terry took a deep breath. "Can we talk inside?"

He led me into the mansion and up the staircase. I pushed him on the shoulder. "Any reason we're NOT headed for the crime scene?"

We continued walking, the hallways quickly becoming darker and less decorated. "You caused quite a stir at court today, Gordon. They've sent out a picture of the butler on local news and every man in New York is hunting this guy."

"So…" I scratched the back of my head. "Any luck?"

He took off his glasses and rubbed them on his shirt. "Absolutely nothing; it's like he clean disappeared off the face of the earth."

"So why are you leading me around here?"

He tapped his temple. "You see, after the search began, I was instructed to search the butler's room, which we come upon now."

We came to a dark, mahogany door next to a bathroom. The only distinguishing feature of it compared to regular doors was the bright, shining and complex-looking lock sealed next to the doorknob.

"And, you wouldn't believe it," he placed his glasses back on his nose. "We can't get through the door."

I rapped my knuckles against it. "Why can't you just bust it down?"

"Unfortunately, both daughters have placed grounds to sue if there is any damage…"

"But a murder occurred in this house! What about the search warrant?"

"I was getting to that." He sighed. "The warrant only covers the crime scene, and the kids got the whole no-damage-to-the-rest-of-the-mansion policy on contract before we could get another warrant."

I shook my head. "Now that is lame with a capital suck."

"And as you can see…" He kicked the door below the doorknob. "The apparent locking mechanism prevents us from simply picking it. Apparently, this lock requires a five-numbered code in order for access to be granted."

"A code huh?" I rubbed my chin, leaning forward to get a better look at it. "Can't you just go through all the numbers? 11111, 11112, 11113 and all that?"

"There are so many combinations, such a thing would be nigh impossible. Wait, what are you doing?"

I input '11111' into the lock and pressed the enter key. It buzzed for a second, and a red light appeared below the number pad.

Terry shrugged. "I guess it was worth a try."

I straightened up. "Ah well. I guess we'll never know what occurred in the lowly butler's room, unless… you broke down the door despite it all?" I raised an eyebrow at him.

He waved his hands in front of his face. "I'm not risking jail for a simple murder trial."

"Well," I put my hands in my pockets, "my senses are telling me this case is anything but simple."

--

"I won, so you have to buy me five boxes of popsicles!"

I pushed her aside. "I know, anything interesting here?"

She frowned. "Nothing we didn't uncover yesterday, but looky who's here!"

I turned to find Missy Vian perched on the master bed where her mother was murdered. She pursed her lips. "Well look at the grubby attorney, come back to idolize his mansion?"

I blinked, "wait… what?"

She narrowed her eyes at me. "I see what you're doing; trying to get my older sister's attention. Before you know it, the bells start ringing, and bang, the mansion's yours…"

It struck me so suddenly that I didn't know how to answer. "W-what? H-how?"

"Oh, I'm not mad; well, not surprised anyway." She gave me a cold smile, different from her sister's. Her head instead looked upward, casting a creepy shadow on her face. "I don't care about what you do with Raley; but for me, you're competition." She stood. "And I hope you're ready for the gloves to come off." She laughed and flicked her short hair.

I felt my face get warmer. "I'm not looking to do anything with your sister. She's my client and my client only."

"So, is making out with your client part of your policy?" She curtsied. "Sorry, I'd love to exchange conversation, but I'm afraid my polo lessons are beginning in a few minutes, and I best be off."

She began to walk through the door. I reached my hand out to her, "wait."

She froze for a moment. "I have not the time, please relinquish your inquisitions for another day."

"Sorry, this one can't wait." I walked toward her. "Do you know the combination for the butler's room?"

She tapped her forehead. "Why would I ever want to enter the living quarters of our filthy servant? It was his room and his only, I'd be surprised if no-one but him had ever set foot in it."

Missy Vian was quickly overtaking her sister on my 'Top Ten People I Hate' list. "What did you think of the butler?"

She shook her head. "Again, I have no time for talk, I really must be going." She stepped out of the room and into the foyer, leaving my sight.

Clara held my shoulders. "So now what?"

I shrugged. "I guess we could pay Mike a visit."

"Oh yay!" She clasped her hands together and her eyes began to sparkle. "I'll actually be up close to him!"

I raised an eyebrow. "I hope you can control yourself in his 'dreamy' presence." I walked out of the room, Clara following. "Seriously, any boy you like is automatically an enemy of mine, and I quite enjoy Mike's acquaintance. So please don't ruin it for me."

She frowned. "I like YOU."

I shrugged. "And since when did I ever like myself? Really now, I'm beginning to wonder if you're really my sister. Let's call a cab."


	8. Chapter 8

Yay! Finally new chapter. Again, I'd like to thank everyone who leaves feedback, either in a review, or in the post on , the ultimate Ace Attorney fansite.  
I m starting a new feature with this chapter of Gordon Truth. At the end of each chapter, besides evidence and profile lists (when we get to trials), there is a new section called 'In-Depth Profiles'. This is basically a small description of the Gordon Truth characters, like what he has written down next to their names in the profiles.

Anyway, hope you enjoy!

--

The speaker buzzed; Mike jumped in his chair, spilling papers all over the floor. He sighed and held his forehead, he didn't know what it was, but something about this case was putting him on edge. Everywhere he turned; it felt like there was a shadow following him, like an omen. He pressed his finger to the speaker button. "Yes Smith?"

"There are two characters here, say they know you."

He fiddled with his grizzly chin. "Ah, yes. I believe I was expecting a visitor, how would you describe these two?"

"A cheerful looking teenager with shoulder-length brown hair filled with different kinds of flowers. She's wearing a yellow polo shirt and skirt speckled with flower patterns. Then there's this tall-ish man in a brown suit staring at me with these creepy glasses…"

Mike chuckled to himself. "Yes, let them in please."

Smith shut off the speaker and addressed the two. "He's just behind the first door on your left, please knock first."

"Ok!" Clara took off for the door. "Gordon! Hurry UP!"

I took off my glasses. "Have you been having pain I your abdomen, around your stomach?"

Smith looked taken aback. "W-well… I suppose so…"

"No wonder." I slipped the glasses away. "You're developing several small gall stones. You might need to visit your surgeon, it's looks about time to have your gall bladder removed."

I left him at the desk, his mouth wide open. Clara clamped on to my shoulders. "Oh no Gordon! That's horrible! Isn't there anything we can do to help that man?"

I smiled. "Not actually, he's fit as a fiddle. It just feels nice to get my frustrations out on unsuspecting people."

She puffed out her cheeks. "Oh You're horrible!"

I took off my brown suit, leaving my plain shirt beneath, and slung it over my shoulder. "Do you think it's getting hot in here?"

She shrugged. "Can we just go and see Mr. Angelo now?"

I nodded. "As long as you can control yourself." I pushed open the doors, letting a pleasant view grace my senses.

Mike's office was elegant enough to be featured in a magazine. The ceiling was very high up, with three tall windows running up the wall, letting sunlight in to make the rest of the office shimmer. Mike waved to me behind his desk.

"About time you showed up! Please, take a seat."

He gestured toward what looked like a white block. I sat onto it, finding it very comfortable as I sunk into the chair.

"So, didn't you say you had some evidence?"

"Tut tut, Gordon." He wiggled his finger next to his head. "Always business with you! Why don't we play a quick game of golf?" He pulled a golf club seemingly out of nowhere, "You really have to appreciate the architecture of this building. It was built with an 18 hole course right in the center!"

I saw Clara almost bursting with excitement at this. "Sorry Mike." I sighed. "We don't really have that kind of time."

His expression fell a bit. "Well, we're both attorneys. So it only makes sense that we should get down to business."

I looked at my watch. "I asked this to the detective earlier, but I thought you might be a bit more up-to-date on things. How's the search party going?"

He put his golf club away behind his desk. "Not well. Did you hear about the butler's room?"

I nodded. "I did. Are you sure we can't just bust the door down?"

He laughed. "Sure, as long as you do it. I'm not throwing my entire career away to get into a room. Want a drink?" He threw a soda to me.

I caught it. "So what's this I hear about proof my client didn't try to poison Vian senior?"

"Ah, you see…" He walked out from behind his desk, taking a seat in the chair next to Clara, who appeared absolutely eccentric. "You suddenly bringing out evidence like that, thinking it'll turn your case? I see amateurs doing it all the time, they think it's the key piece of the case, until I get a hold of it and do some basic forensic testing."

I felt myself sinking lower into the chair. "And?"

"I've studied this sample of poison." He held up one of the packets I presented in court earlier that day. "It's a completely _non-lethal _dosage for us sapiens."

I almost spit out my soda. "What? What the use of a poison that doesn't kill?"

"May I remind you that it is _rat _poison. It is very lethal for a small creature such as a mouse, but for us, it might come close, but it would never end our lives."

I rubbed the back of my head. "So what would it do to you if you ingested that package?"

"Y'know that feeling you get when you accidentally swallow a bit of toothpaste? A sickness in your stomach, and an uncomfortable throat and upper body. It's a bit like that, times a thousand."

I fiddled with my tie. "That does not sound very nice at all."

"Also, and I know this doesn't really prove anything, but her fingerprints weren't on the packet."

I shrugged. "Could have been wearing gloves."

He laughed. "Ironic you'd be saying that about your own client. Also, the tea cup has been emptied and washed by the unsuspecting Missy Vian, so it's impossible to test to see if it was even poisoned at all."

I raised an eyebrow. "Missy cleaned up some of our evidence? That seems more suspicious than anything."

He brushed his hair back with his fingers. "May I remind you we have eyewitnesses stating she was outside walking the dog at the time of the murder?"

I finished the soda and crunched the can in my hand. "So what's the purpose of this rat poison packet? What was it doing at the scene of the crime?"

Mike shrugged. "Perhaps Vian manor had a minor rat problem?"

I rubbed my chin. "Maybe…"

I snapped my fingers. "Where was the victim diagnosed? I mean, her rare sickness… who supervised that?"

Mike appeared to be chewing on something. "I wasn't expecting a question like that. She was diagnosed about three months ago, down at the Fidelity Clinic. It's not that far if you want to check it out."

"I might." I stood. "Is there anything else?"

"Oh, just one more thing." Mike swiveled his chair to face me. "We found the murder weapon, and your client's fingerprints are all over it."

--

"Small hand pistol, easy to conceal, found in the bushes outside the mansion's front door. The pistol is covered with the defendant's fingerprints, not just the handle."

Clara looked distressed. "It was nice of Mr. Angelo to give us this information, but this kind of puts a damper on out case, don't you think?"

I didn't really know what to think. "Rest assured, we are going to be having a good, long talk with my client before the day's done."

Clara tapped on the armrest next to the cabbie. He leaned his head to show he was listening. "Where are we going again?"

"The Fidelity Clinic, I believe." The cabby answered.

"Oh, that's good." Clara smiled to me. "But why are we headed there?"

I thought back to what I've heard about the victim, Ms. Malady Vian, from all sides. "I have a few questions about this rare disease she supposedly had." I looked down to the records I was holding. "Apparently we should ask for a Dr. Diamond Nost."

"Diamond?" Clara stuck out her tongue halfway. "Never heard that one before."

"Grandparents were probably hippies." I put my documents back in my folder. This case was starting to pressure me. I felt claustrophobic as all the evidence began closing in; was Raley guilty? If not, did she really have guilty intentions?

The cabbie looked back to me. "We're here sir."

I stepped out of the cab and put my suit back on. Clara gave me her hand, and I pulled her out of the taxi, drawing her into a hug. I rubbed her head, messing up her hair.

"Y'know, I tried to comb it nice today."

"There's always tomorrow."

The inside of the hospital was the spitting image of your average clinic. Nurses were off running into different rooms left and right. The sitting area was off to the right, about halfway full with worried men and women. I slid up to the receptionist.

"How may I help you?" A blond girl with a ponytail and thick glasses peered over the desk.

"I'm defense attorney Gordon Truth. I am here to investigate a murder."

She lifted an eyebrow. "I've heard. The Vian kids gone insane, right?"

I tried to laugh, my body leaning against the desk. "Sorry, but my client has committed no crime.

"Well, there's two problems with your 'investigation'." She peered at my badge. "First, you're an attorney, not a detective. And second, didn't the murder take place at the Vian manor?"

I cleared my throat. "I'm actually here to question somebody, and employee of this hospital. Do you know a Ms. Diamond Nost?"

She nodded. "She's actually on brake now. I don't see any problems with letting you talk to her real quick." She looked to the left and right of the desk, then pointed to the door to my left. "Just behind that door, you'll find her in the cafeteria, most likely."

"Thank you m'am."

We pushed the door open and trekked down the hall. Eventually, we found a large cafeteria with staff workers wearing scrubs seated all across the room at various small tables.

"How are we going to find Ms. Nost?" Clara asked, taken aback at the amount of people.

"Just walk around and look at nametags." I said, rubbing my nose. "Oh, wait, I think I already found her."

A redhead, with hair curling outward as it reached her shoulders. Her green scrubs brought out her eyes. She was seated alone at the table closest to the door; she was looking toward other doctors seated in groups across from her.

"Dr. Nost?" I said as I approached.

She seemed to suddenly realize I was there. She shook her head a bit and stood up. "I'm sorry, I'm just so jumpy if I don't have my morning coffee."

Coffee, a drink I only took before bed. I sat down at the table with her, Clara taking another seat. Dr. Nost apparently liked the sudden company and made herself comfortable. "Are you two here with a patient?"

Clara shook her head, I smiled. "No, we're investigating one of your previous patients."

Her face dimmed as she saw my badge. "An attorney? Oh my goodness… I'm not being sued am I? Because if someone died, it's supposed to be the hospital…"

"Calm down." I patted her shoulder. "Do you remember treating someone by the name of Malady Vian? That's all we're here for."

She made a face, like she had suddenly realized something. "Malady Vian?"

I nodded. "Yes, you should have treated her here about three months ago, correct?"

She nodded slowly. "Yes, I believe I did."

I was hoping for her to tell me more, but I could tell she was keeping a tight lip. For what reason, I was hopefully about to find out. "Can we see a record of her stay?"

She fluffed up her hair. "I… guess so. Follow me."

She led us to her private office. It was a small place, with the only pronounced item being a nameplate saying DIAMOND GEORGIA NOST. I spied a little dartboard on the other side of the door.

She began fiddling with one of her file cabinets. I swung my hands behind my back. "Clara, could you stay outside? I don't think this office can comfortably hold all of us."

She nodded and backed into the hallway. "So, Diamond…"

"Please, call me Dia. Everyone does. Ms. Dia G. Nost, if you want to be formal." She slipped a small folder onto her desk. "This is a document describing her stay and care."

"Actually, I'm more interested in what you have to say, Dia." I sat in the only seat that wasn't hers. "Was Malady Vian really sick?"

She seemed taken by surprise. "What?"

I tapped my forehead. "The way I see it, you diagnosed her with a rare disease…"

"_Calculatius Falccotus, _yes, I remember it now." She took a seat. "Only really prevalent in a small county in South America."

"So it has a name, does it?" I leaned back in my chair, this was too easy. "That's not what I heard in court."

"What?" She stared at me as if I was accusing her of something. "Of course it has a name!"

I smiled. "So then, what are the symptoms?"

She cocked her head to the side. "Well, commonly there is intense stomach pain, followed up by a sore throat and-."

"-painful and uncomfortable upper abdomen." I finished.

"H-how did you know that?"

I threw the plastic packet onto her desk. "The same symptoms contracted if ingesting a package of this brand of rat poison."

"Impossible!!" She began sweating.

"If she was trying to pass it as a real illness. She would need someone on the inside to confirm it."

She clenched her fists. "Look, I know where you're heading with this…"

"Malady Vian was faking her own illness, and you know it."

Her eyes were wide open. "L-look. It's not what it seems."

I leaned forward and looked into her eyes. "It seems that you were her accomplice. She most likely paid you to pass her off as a victim of a rare disease and confirm it so she could hold her two daughters responsible if they refused to care for her."

She hung her head. "You don't understand… I needed the money. My two boys…"

"I don't care, Ms. Nost. All I care about is that Malady Vian was misdiagnosed, and that she was most likely not really sick at all."

"Please don't tell-!"

I stood. "That depends. I will try not to name you, but if anyone does their homework after I prove she was in perfect health, they will come to question you."

She looked completely downtrodden. I pushed open the door. "Let's get out of here."

Clara looked confused. "What was the point of that? You don't have any evidence, and she probably won't tell anyone else about it."

"This is the point." I said, taking the hidden microphone out of my collar. "We now have her testimony about the health and wellbeing of the victim, Malady Vian. That was all I came here to do."

Clara was surprised. "Wow! You're really prepared for everything aren't you?"

I shook my head. "Have you seen me in court?"

She laughed. "Well, now what?"

I shrugged as we walked out of the clinic. "I think it's time we had a talk with our defendant. It's time to get the real story. What really happened that night at 7:40pm, and who really killed Malady Vian?"

--

'In Depth Profiles' Not part of the story, only an extra

Profile of Clara Truth

I knew Gordon's assistant would be his sister, due to plot, but her name was always a bit hard to finalize. I settled on Clara Truth, which in a way, you can make it out as Clarifying the Truth.

There's only so much I can disclose about Clara's personality without handing away any spoilers, so let's just say that she is very attached to Gordon. She and Gordon get along much better than regular siblings, they frequently show affection, such as hug in public and compliment each other often. She is a proud high school junior coming-on senior and flower shop owner. Don't know how she manages both at once. Her flowers sell alright, but since it's just a stall, she moves around a lot, so customers only get a few chanced per year to purchase some.

So where does she grow her flowers? I believe she wouldn't tell Gordon where, since he can be rather clumsy and could possibly ruin some of her plants. She had a small garden on the top of some random building, but she didn't have a liscense, so she has to grow flowers behind the apartment building in tuny boxed-up gardens.

Clara is always cheerful, so much to a point where she doesn't comprehend sadness. When she's supopsed to be sad, she instead usually gets confused. She's not the smartest girl, but she can focus and surprise others with her knowledge when she needs to. She has short, shoulder-length brown hair, longer than her brother's, and she wears a different flower in her hair each day of the week. She always wears a yellow shirt and a skirt with flower patterns on it. She has blue eyes.

Some random stuff about Clara  
Her favorite song is Snow Patrol's 'Chasing Cars'.  
Her favorite color is yellow  
She loves popsicles. Although she claims not to like the blue ones, she eats them the most.  
She can be spacy and forget things if you change the subject.


	9. Chapter 9

Sorry if it's been a while, but I've been busy with... things.  
ALLLSOOOO... There was a lot to cover in this chapter, so I feel like I scrunched a lot of stuff together in tiny bunches. There are a total of 7 cutaway scenes here; some admittedly more important than the others. Here we see the suspence ratchet up as we learn moe and more about this complicated case.

--

"Enjoy the rest of the evening sir."

Greg Violet nodded to the cart-wheeler and groped his hotdog like he hadn't eaten anything in weeks. It was nice to get out of the depressing underground every once in a while.

Wait, was that a raindrop? Screw that, he'd like nothing better than to be in his hideout about now, he hated the rain. He scrambled to the other side of the street; beside a barber shop where he was at least a little bit out of the rain's way. He looked at his dampened hotdog and shrugged, whatever it was and no matter how wet it was, it was ten times better than the trash he ate in hiding. He took a large bite and chewed it, letting the meat, cheese, and pickles sit on his tongue before being swallowed into his thankful stomach. It sure was nice to get out, even if it was raining.

Something caught his attention to his left. With half his lunch still in his mouth, he jerked his head toward the familiar noise; a car pulling up to the side of the street. Not too fast, not too slow; a black one. He smiled, wharfing down the last of his NY frank, and stepped up to the approaching car.

It stopped, passenger side window rolling down. Greg bent over, peering inside. The driver was an uninterestingly dressed clichéd chauffer, but it was the passenger who was so very attention grabbing. Bleached purple hair with matching blush, pearl necklace and earrings draped across her neck shoulders; she lowered her sunglasses so her violet eyes penetrated his psyche, or a least tried to. Her black dress had the appearance of what used to look like a nice outfit until someone let a hungry hyena at it. There were rips and tears everywhere, large and with strands of linen hanging out. Some of it was pleasurably revealing, but Greg was still cautious, she might have torn the dress herself as a testament to what she could do to weak men. Greg placed his arm above the door and stuck his head inside the car, smiling as best he could. "Sava, how nice of you to show."

She licked violet lips, turning her head to one side. "She's been looking for you, you can't just disappear; you'll make her worry."

Greg rubbed his forehead. "Well Sava, living in hiding just isn't suited to me or my needs. Occasionally a guy just has to get out."

She shook her head. "Greg, she'd shoot ya if you weren't her boss. Get your ass to the scene," she licked her lips again, shuffling up to the window sensually. "You don't want her to get out of the car and force you in herself, do you?"

Greg rolled his eyes and sniggered. "You scare my inner child, Sava la' Vender." He knocked on the back door, which the driver dutifully unlocked. He got in and clipped his seat belt. "So my little puppet flower, what's the news on old bastard?"

She shrugged, "He's not talkin'. No matter what kind of torture she throws at him. He fills Sava with rage, makes her want to _break _him."

Greg had a temptation to burst out in hysterics at the chauffeur's expression, but he managed to reduce it to a slow and hideous chuckle. "He knows we can't kill him, but it's perfectly fine. I don't want him to spill his beans yet anyway." He suddenly bit his lip, hard, and blood pooled down his chin. Bi-polar disorder was always such a pain to keep under his tight and obsessive control. "There's only one place the entire truth can come out, and I'm going to drag him there on his hands and knees, and I'll force him to admit to everything there. I swear by it." He stared through the hole in his right hand. "I swear by my parents' grave I'll make his sorry ass pay."

--

"Is that an e-mail from Benjamin?"

I fumbled with the mouse of my computer. I hadn't heard from Benjamin in about a week. He was never in the office when I came by to sort records, and every time I called the only answer was from his monotone voice mail. "I think so, why don't you come over here and read it with me?"

Clara happily pounced on the chair that wasn't wide enough to hold both of us comfortably. "So? What did he send you?"

I clicked the message, and a photo suddenly appeared. I scrolled down, but there was nothing but the photo.

"What is that?"

It was a photo that seemed to be taken from some intersection camera. There was a circle drawn on it, in red ink, encompassing a man in a black coat. I stepped up the revolution, the man looked like he woke up without brushing his hair, it stuck out forward and then stuck almost straight upward in the back. He was eating what appeared to be a hotdog.

"Who is that?" Clara asked.

I stepped up the revolution of the photo a bit more to confirm my suspicion. I nodded, holding my chin. "Greg Violet."

I leaned back in my half of the chair, what was the point of sending me a picture of him? How was he important at all?

"Who's Greg Violet?"

I closed the message. "He was a classmate of mine, real popular. I wonder what he's doing now."

Clara left the chair and went to the fridge, taking out some orange juice. "Why would Benjamin send you a picture of this guy?"

I clicked to reply to the message. "I have no idea." I quickly typed into the reply box, _Where are you? What's going on? Why did you send me this picture? _I pressed send, and switched off the computer. "Come on, visiting hours are almost over, we need to speak with Raley."

She finished pouring herself some juice. "Are you sure she'll tell us?"

I grabbed my coat. "No, but there's no harm in trying."

--

"Greg Violet."

"I received the same message myself, sir."

Mike raised an eyebrow. "Really now? Now why would that be?"

Terry put his documents on Mike's desk. "I really don't know, but do you recognize the sender?"

"I do, but I don't see why he'd send me anything. We've never had any real conversations. Actually, I haven't heard from him for a while."

Terry took off his glasses and wiped them on his shirt. "Do you think he's missing?"

Mike focused on the image. "I'm not sure." I sat back in his chair, taking his eyes off on his computer. He crossed his legs and looked out his office window. The view was spectacular from the 24th story, but his thoughts were too "Remember when he was on TV? He was being investigated for obstruction of justice in a case for a suspected NYM member."

"I think I might have caught it on." Terry put his glasses back on his nose, pushing until they were pressed into his face. "Ohh… wait." He furrowed his brow. "You don't think-?"

"-that NYM might have something to do with it? Yes, I'm thinking that very much." He breathed in and exhaled deeply. "You better call the detectives in charge of the search party. Tell them to add one more person to the list."

--

I lifted my head, touching it against the wall. The door to Raley's room was beside me, closed. I slipped my phone out of my pocket and checked my text messages out of boredom; nothing new.

As soon as I entered her room, she yelled at me to get out, and that she never wanted to see me outside of court. So I let Clara stay inside to get the truth out of her, if she could.

I looked through the glass in the door to see if I could a peak of the two. Raley was sitting still, arms crossed. She didn't appear to be saying much. Clara, however, looked like she was going on and on about something. I sighed, knowing Clara, she was probably off wandering on about five different subjects besides the murder. I suddenly had an idea. I took out my cell phone again and texted Clara, _Any news?_

She stopped talking as her cell phone began to ring. She held up a hand to Raley and checked her phone. I leaned back against the wall when my phone rung. I flipped it open. _'Raley dosnt like blubery popsicles ether. How kewl is tht?'_

_I meant about the murder._

_Wht murder?_

I almost slapped my head. _Clara, her mom's murder. The one we've been going to court all this time about?_

_O yea. She dosnt want t tel me._

That was enough. I pulled the door open and stormed in.

"I though I told you to stay outside!" Raley burst.

I slammed my hands on the desk and pressed my head against the glass wall. "I don't care. You're going to tell me what happened on the night of the murder."

Raley pursed her lips. "And if I say no?"

"I'll settle for a guilty verdict. That's what we're heading for if you don't talk."

She smiled, "You're bluffing."

I smiled too, but much more maliciously. "I really couldn't care less about you. I could just go to court tomorrow and throw the entire thing, I could work with Mike to get you…"

"Whatever." She took some lipstick out of her purse and began to do her lips.

"Raley, if you don't talk you are going to go to jail." I pounded on the glass, making her jump in her seat. "Listen to me! Why aren't you telling me!"

She looked worried. "I…"

I punched the glass again. "Damn it! You are going to tell me what happened, and you are going to tell me NOW!"

Clara was backing away and looking toward to door.

Raley's eyes were beginning to water. "Listen, I don't even remember anything about it. I was no where near my mother when she was killed, I didn't have anything to do with it!"

"That's a lie!" I pressed the document I got from Mike on the glass in front of her face. "We found the murder weapon, and it has your fingerprints all over it! And if you won't tell me about the murder, why don't you tell me why you left your mark on the gun that took your mother's life!"

"SHUT UP!" She stood turned around so I couldn't see her. I could tell she was breathing heavily. "I… I didn't want to talk about it… I don't want to talk about it. If word gets out I told…" She turned back around, tears falling down her face. "I might be killed!"

I blinked. "What?" I slowly took my hands off the glass screen and sat down. "What does that mean?"

She shook her head. "Someone was trying to kill me… I… had to run…"

I looked to Clara, my eyes widened. She showed the same expression. I turned back to my client. "Someone was trying to kill you?"

She nodded, her reddened eyes looking down below the glass screen. "I saw them… they had the butler, and he was running. He turned and saw me and… he yelled and pointed a gun at me!"

I clenched the edges of the desk, "Who?"

"I said I can't tell!" She was wiping her eyes, but it did nothing to stop the tears from flowing.

"Why not!"

"I'll be killed!"

"Would you rather die in prison!"

She cupped over her ears. "Stop it! Stop it! Just… go away!"

I pounded my desk in desperation. "Please! Just calm down! I won't ask again!"

That seemed to strike a chord. She sat back down, but reluctantly; tears still dripping from her cheeks.

"Can you at least tell me why you can't say who attacked you?"

She pondered this; "I'm afraid… because of what happened to Theodore Bell."

--

It was the very last thing I had ever thought to have heard coming from her. I paced outside the room, Clara sitting near the door on the floor. I finally knew why Raley was keeping quiet. She had information; dangerous information.

But what information was it? She told me that she was attacked in her home, what time? I didn't ask.

She said someone was in the house, someone who 'had' the butler. What did she mean when she said he 'had the butler'? Was he being held hostage? Was he being dragged along with this man?

"Clara, can you go inside and ask her what happened that night? Don't say anything about this man's identity, she obviously doesn't want us to know that."

Clara looked strained. Her eyes were reddening and drooping. "Can't you?"

I looked at the ceiling. "I have to think about what she said."

What happened to Theodore Bell? I knew the answer, but it was so painful to think about. When it happened, I withdrew into law school, never straying outside of the campus. I was frightened for my life, that they would follow me and kill me like they did to him…

I grabbed my tie, breathing heavily and fell against the wall, trying to keep myself upright. "Clara!" I said, almost choking, "Please! Just go in and ask!"

"O-okay, Gordon." She knew what was happening to me; she hurried into the room.

_Get a grip Gordon. You're over it now, focus on the now, stop going to the past…_

I swallowed; hopefully after this case, I'd never have to re-visit the past again.

--

Clara did the best she could. I still didn't have the entire story, but at least Raley gave us the time when this perpetrator started chasing her. Of course, I would need to tell Mike about this; if her word rang true, the butler was _kidnapped, _which would explain why he hasn't been seen around.

The stars were starting to flicker as the sunset faded away into darkness. I looked to Clara walking next to me. "What do you say to a quick look back at the crime scene?"

"Are you sure?" Clara fiddled with the flower in her hair. "I feel like we've already seen everything in there."

"Except for the butler's room."

"But isn't that off limits?"

"Depends on what you mean by 'off limits'. All we need to do is find a safe way inside, we'll have to find some other way in or figure out the code."

"That doesn't seem very likely, we already tried to get in there."

"Yeah, but I'm pretty bored, let's go anyway."

--

The mansion sure was different at night; almost scary looking. I opened the door and took a peak in, no Terry Scours here today.

"Let's go, that Missy might still be here."

First stop, the crime scene. The teacup and tray were gone from the nightstand, as Mike said. I checked the stand and found what looked like a concealed drawer. It slid out, revealing what seemed like hundreds of small rat poison packets. This indeed proves who was poisoning the victim's tea each night.

"Is this what we came for?"

I shook my head. "Nope, I pretty much knew this already from what Dr. Dia Nost told me. Let's go."

Clara looked hesitant. "Did you try looking at everything?"

I nodded. "Of course."

"I mean _really _look at them."

I smiled. "Ohh… you mean…" I pulled the sunglasses out of my pocket. I nodded. "If you say so."

I gave the entire room a look, but all the blood I saw was on the victim's bed. I was hoping that, since the victim was shot while awake and standing, that there would be blood somewhere else. But perhaps her nightdress soaked up some blood before she was placed on her bed.

That was another thing to think about. Who put her back in her bed and why?

"Nothing here," I said, putting the glasses back into my pocket, "We better head upstairs."

I remembered the route Terry took the last time I was here. We quietly stepped down the dark hallways until we reached the strange door.

"So what do you suppose we do?"

I stared at the door, mouth agape. I hadn't actually thought of what I was going to do; I only wanted to see the door again.

"Maybe I should take one more look." I slipped the glasses onto my nose.

The door suddenly shined bright red, like a scarlet curtain. I took a step back, almost running into the wall. Something happened here all right. I got up close to the door and ran my hand on it, clearly written on the door were the letters 'E', 'N', 'T', and what looked like a straight horizontal line, but with a zigzagging pattern at the end of the symbol, suggesting the scribe was interrupted in the middle of writing it.

"Ent-," I said aloud.

"What does that mean?" Clara eyed the door, her lips trembling.

"I'm not sure, but it's written on the door in blood."

_Wait, I think I understand…_

My lips cracked a smile. "That sly devil…"

"What is it Gordon?"

I took off my glasses. "I think whoever wrote this was trying to spell out 'Enter', probably as a code to get into the room through the code on the handle."

Clara approached the door, still determined not to come in contact with it. "That doesn't make any sense, 'enter' is a word, not a number. How could it be a code?"

"Easy, he's just expecting everyone to overlook it. You see a numpad, you think you have to enter some numerical code, right? Well… what if all you had to do was press…"

I pressed my thumb on the 'Enter' button on the keypad. The light shone green and a click could be heard from inside the door.

I could hardly hide my joy. I turned the knob and pushed open the door into the darkness. I felt around the inner wall and flicked on the light switch. The butler's room appeared in the light, and my sister and I were caught in a state of shock.

"Oh… my… God…"

A macabre grey bed was drenched in blood, and you didn't need a supernatural eyesight condition to see it. The entire room was left in shambles; clothes on the floor, furniture on its side.

"Clara, did you bring the camera?"

She held it out to me, still too stunned to speak. I ventured into the room, took one picture of the bloody bed; and another covering most of the other parts of the room. I spied a schedule on the back of the door, akin to the ones Raley and Missy were supposedly following. I slipped it out of its plastic casing and stuffed it in my pocket.

"W-what does this all mean?"

I took a deep breath. "It means Raley was telling the truth. Someone did enter the home with the intentions of kidnapping the butler, and they had a struggle, with someone finally drawing blood." That reminded me. I quickly took a swab of the blood on the bed with a cue tip, and another sample of the blood from the door just to be safe. I grabbed Clara by the shoulders. "Come on, we don't need t be here any longer. Let's just get home and prepare for tomorrow's trial, ok?"

She was too scared to answer, something I could completely understand. I looked to the ceiling; Albert Reeves room was a bloody mess, and there could only be one reason for it. There were so many different stories in this case, I just hoped I could get it all together in time for the trial tomorrow. I said a silent prayer, this may be the most complicated case I've ever worked on, and it was all going to come together tomorrow.

--

**IN-DEPTH **Not a part of the story, this is an extra

_Character Profile, Benjamin Bell  
Benjamin is... sigh, probably the most important under-developed character in the story. After the admittedly confusing inner diolauge at the end of Fall of the Turnabout (yes it was Benjamin, but I'm going to be changing that ending very soon), we haven't seen a lot of him._

_Benjamin Bell is a very successful defense attorney who has never lost a case, until he was rumored to have lost a case on purpose recently whilst defending a suspected NYM member. He is very confindent and fun-loving; but he is definetly not laid back or lazy in any way. He has VERY short black hair and wears a grey suit, that he always has draped over his left shoulder when he's not in court. When Gordon Truth first came out of law school, he very quickly met Benjamin Bell, who decided to let him be his law firm partner after they really hit it off (not that way you pervies)._

_Benjamin's favorite song is 'This Ain't a Scene, it's an Arms Race' by Fall Out Boy.  
His favorite color is maroon, which is funny since he never wears it.  
He likes Italian food the best, since he is part Italian, although he's not certain how much so he is.  
He can be quite nit-pickey, almost annoyingly so (think Klavier Gavin when described by Darean Crescend)_


	10. Chapter 10

Yeah... It's been almost two months. Sorry everybody if you got a little tired of waiting. DON'T EVER THINK I'M QUITTING N GORDON TRUTH!! It's just... GAH, schoolwork and GAH, movie and GAH, friends that want to hang out and play Brawl.

ANYWAYZ. Enjoy.

--

I of course called the police after I managed to open the door to the butler's room. You didn't think I was going to keep the entire scene to myself did you? Well… as much as I would have LIKED to… I couldn't. It was my duty as a defense attorney to alert the right people when a huge discovery like this is made. A single piece of evidence that can be hidden in a coat pocket is one thing, an entire new crime scene is another.

I tossed on my bed, Terry was probably having a hissy fit up and down the mansion at the new discovery. I looked at the butler's schedule I had placed on my dresser. It was just by dumb luck that I happened to catch an episode of Law and Order prior to my investigation, which led me to authenticating the schedule with the authorities instead of just taking it home. The court would ride all over the fact that I just happened to find new shocking evidence that may prove my client's innocence. I kept what Mike said before in his office in mind. I checked out the schedule with forensics, it was the real deal alright.

My cell phone began to ring. I was so exhausted it was fighting a small battle to lift myself up and reach toward my nightstand. I flipped it open with a sleepy "hello?"

"_Gordon, can't sleep either?"_

It was Mike Angelo, quite unsound. "You could say that, what time is it?"

"_About five in the morning."_

"Five hours to go."

"_What?"_

I almost snored into the speaker. "Y'know, five hours until court and stuff."

"_Yeah, that's right."_ I could tell he didn't know or care about what I was saying. He made a shuddering sound. _"Let's talk about court."_

"Really?"

"_Why not."_

"Maybe because you're my opponent."

Mike made a tsk-tsk sound. _"Opponent? Or ally? Listen, we haven't made any progress in finding Albert Reeves, or what might be left of him."_

This bed sure was comfortable, maybe it was the fluffy comforter or the silky sheets. And the pillows felt like angle feathers. "Yeah… Reeves." I said in a daze. "That's that one guy, with the… thingy?"

"_He must have been intensely injured. The bedroom was a mess."_

_Mess _sort of rhymed with _Rest_. Wasn't that interesting? Rest started with an "R"… and so did Rhyme! What an amazing coincidence… "Killed? Blood, right?"

"_Yes Gordon, lot's of blood."_ He sounded like he was talking to a puppy. _"More blood than what was found with Madame Vian, that's for sure."_

"Does that mean anything really?"

"_Maybe, maybe not. The victim was shot once in the heart, not much blood poured out, since one of her vital organs had been destroyed with the bullet. This butler could have been bleeding, as if part of a struggle."_

"Struggle?" My sleepy mind felt dizzy. "Was there more than just the victim's blood?"

"_Yep, but we have no matching DNA on record for the other blood."_

So, it wasn't just the butler's blood all over the room. So one or both of the strugglers were most likely still alive. "What about the sample I sent in? The one from the door?"

"_The one on the cue tip? Also the butler's."_

I rolled around in bed. "Anything else?"

"_You have that schedule, right?"_

"Yup."

"_We've all received copies of it."_

"Good for you."

He coughed. _"Anything you see there interesting?"_

I was too lazy to admit I hadn't actually taken a look at it yet. However, I felt there was more to this call than just casual evidence discussion. "What's the real problem here?"

Mike sighed. _"The butler is still a huge missing piece of the puzzle. The judge told us to get the butler there to testify, but so far, he's a no-show. And I have no other witnesses…"_

"So why call your opponent?"

"_You mean my ally? I need your help."_

"With what?"

He cleared his throat. _"We need to find a 'Greg Violet', I think he has your friend Benjamin Bell in his custody."_

I was wide awake now, my stomach filled with nausea. Albert Reeves, Benjamin Bell, and now Greg Violet. People were disappearing left and right. It felt almost familiar… a horrible sense of dread, a sharper sense of guilt.

"What about the trial?"

The prosecutor laughed. _"We'll just have to get through it won't we?"_

I didn't feel tired anymore. "But, what about you? What do you believe?"

"_What else can I believe? I'm paid to believe every defendant is guilty. You should do your job and believe the opposite, for the sake of law."_

--

I yawned twenty times. No sleep, no peace, and when every other adult goes straight to coffee to wake them up, it has the opposite effect on me. My hands were folded in my lap as I sat on the bench in the defense lounge, Clara sitting beside me licking a blue ice pop.

"What did you and Mike talk about last night?"

I yawned again. "He's worried about his case; he doesn't have any more witnesses."

"But they do have that gun with Raley's fingerprints on it, right?"

I sunk my head between my legs. I completely let that slip my mind. Suddenly both me and Mike's cases felt lacking.

"What's going to happen if the prosecution doesn't present any more witnesses?" Clara asked.

"You're about to find out." Mike smiled at us, his hands in his orange-brownish jacket pockets. He was wearing bulky jeans and a white stretchy t-shirt, like he was yesterday. He fiddled with his small goatee. "Let's do our best today," He put his hand on my shoulder. "We should go, it's starting."

Raley was waiting for us at the desk, trying her best to scare me with her evil smile. "Hello there lawyer-boy, how goes my case?"

"Neh." I said. "I dunno."

She raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"We'll just have to see." I shrugged. "Also, I'm going to call you as a witness."

Her eyelids flew back. "WHAT?"

I nodded. "You don't have to be specific, just tell the court you were being chased, someone was trying to kill you, and that person was dragging the butler with them. That's all."

She started shaking her head. "B-but… I don't know…" She held her chest. "Just promise me I won't get hurt."

I looked into her eyes, suddenly remembering the 'kiss' we shared the day before. Seeing her worried face almost made me sad. Perhaps under the sinister exterior, she wasn't so bad.

"I promise"

_Clack!_

The trial had begun. "The prosecution is ready."

"The defense is ready."

The judge nodded. "Everything seems in order, why don't we go to the prosecution for an opening statement?"

Mike rubbed his chin; he then bent over his desk and pointed at my client. "Nope, no opening statement this time."

The judge blinked in surprise. "R-really? Are you sure?"

Mike shrugged. "In fact, I'm in a bit of a hurry, so let's just get this whole thing over with." He threw the gun onto his desk. "Here's the murder weapon, it had the defendant's fingerprints on it, ballistics matched it with the bullet in the heart blah, blah, blah." He rested his head in his arms. "I hope the court doesn't mind my rude behavior, I didn't get much sleep last night."

I waved my hand halfheartedly to the judge. "Me neither."

The judge shook his head. "Well, perhaps we should finish this before we all doze off. The gun has been entered into the court record." He rubbed his chin. "However, I remember something like this being an issue earlier. Wasn't the defendant going to poison the victim? Why would she shoot her?"

Mike shrugged. "Beats me."

"Does the defense have anything to add?"

I gulped. "Umm… Well…" I rubbed the back of my head. "Maybe?"

Mike chuckled. "It appears that the defense is hiding something."

The judge threw me an angry look. "Perhaps we should make you take the stand, if there's something you don't want to tell us."

A possibility made its way into my head. "The court can't believe what I say without proof, right? I'm the defender of the defendant, doesn't that make me biased?" I smiled to the court.

The judge looked to the ceiling and scrunched up his face in thought. "I guess so…"

"Good move there lawyer-boy." Raley grinned at me. "If they knew she was poisoning herself, that would put me dangerously near guilty."

I ignored her, "Which is why I'm going to call a witness up to the stand!"

Raley held her chest and scrunched up one of her eyes. "WHAT?"

Mike shook his head. "What are you doing, Gordon?" He gave me a sideways glance. "I thought we were going to keep today's trail brief."

_Not on your life._

Ms. Dia Nost had called me earlier today. She said she would be watching the trial today in the audience. Ever since then I've been wondering…

…Wondering about the truth.

Even if it wasn't something I wanted everyone to know, it was still the truth, and hiding it would only make me a hypocrite.

Right?

"The defense calls Dr. Nost to the stand!"

The was a small commotion behind me. A red-haired, green-eyed woman in matching scrubs had jumped up and shouted. "WHAT?"

I turned toward the audience. "Sorry, Ms. Nost. But your testimony is directly relevant to this case. It can't just go unnoticed. Please take the stand, and if not, we can simple subpoena your testimony."

She stared open-mouthed at me. "But…"

I shook my head. "Let's not waste the court's valuable time. Up you go."

Raley grabbed my hand and choked it until my fingers turned white. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" She seethed through her teeth. "If you prove she was poisoning herself I'll be found guilty!"

I raised an eyebrow. "Are you guilty?"

She looked insulted. "Of course not!"

I shrugged. "Then you should have nothing to worry about."

"But WE have something to worry about Gordon!" Clara clenched her fists. "She's not going to want to talk. She has a job and a family at stake!"

I sighed. "I know, but as much as it pains me to do so… I have to expose the truth…" I held my aching head, _I have to…_

"Wait! What about that tape recorder? You don't even need her testimony! Just present the recording!" Clara smiled to herself.

I had brought it with me. Bringing it out of my pocket, I stared at the small microphone and the tiny 'Playback' button. I clenched my fist around it. "It's not complete proof. I can be accused of staging the conversation in this recording… and I didn't get her consent, she could sue me."

"Since when has anything like that stopped you?" Clara frowned. "Why did you even record her in the first place?"

"That was primarily for our investigation, it won't exactly fly in a modern courtroom." _I think._

Her eyelids drooped. "Aw… that's really too bad…"

I rested my elbows on the desk. Dr. Nost wasn't going to be very cooperative. A hostile witness, as they say, so it was going to be like going against one of the prosecution's witnesses.

"This is a bit strange, but… well… name and occupation?" said a slightly confused judge.

The good doctor fluffed up her hair. "Well… my name is Diamond Nost, and I'm-,"

"Diamond?" said Mike.

"Diamond?" said the judge.

"DIAMOND?" squawked Raley.

Dia fluffed her hair again. "As I was saying… I am the Co-Chief Resident at the Fidelity Clinic."

"O…k…" The judge shook his head. "Well, Mr. Truth, is there something you'd like to ask this witness, since you were the one who called her up?"

I smashed my desk. "YES!"

Clara tapped her chin. "That was a bit… overenthusiastic."

"Ms. Dia G. Nost! Did you see a patient approximately three months ago by the name of Malady Vian?"

She squinted her eyes. "I-I don't really remember…"

"This document submitted to the court by the prosecution tells us that you did." I shoved the papers to the edge of my desk. "Remember now?"

She slowly nodded. "I guess so…"

"Yes… well…" I nodded and straightened my tie. "Could you, err… testify about that?"

She fluffed up her red hair again, making sure her neat split-ends split right at her shoulders. "About what, specifically?"

"Well… um…" I pounded my desk. "WAS SHE RELLY SICK?"

She almost jumped at my outburst. "W-why… of c-course she was!" She let loose a nervous chuckle. "I'd never tell a patient they were sick if they weren't…"

"I think I see where the defense is going with this." Mike pulled at his small goatee. "Since proving this point will help my case, I think me and Mr. Truth will be cooperating on this little cross-examination."

"STOP. THIS. NOW." Raley bared her teeth at me. I could swear more than four of them were pointed. "Stop, and I MIGHT let you live!"

I shook her off. "This is leading somewhere. Just let me do my job." _I at least hope this is leading me somewhere…_

"Anyway." Mike yawned, politely cupping him hand over his mouth. "The prosecution, and the defense as it appears, believes that the victim of this murder wasn't actually sick. She was faking her disease in order to control her daughters."

The judge furrowed his brow. "And what exactly will that prove?"

_I got this one. _"The defense thinks that the victim was using packets of non-lethal rat poison to fake symptoms of _Calculatius Falccotus. _Packets of poison like this one, which was presented in court yesterday." I placed the empty packet on the table. I hesitated for a moment. "The defense concedes that this does not immediately prove anything in favor of the defendant."

Mike was hunched over, chuckling softly. "You really are something Gordon. You do know that means the only way Raley could have killed her mother was the gun, right?"

I smiled. "I cleared up one of the questions the judge asked yesterday. How are you doing on the whole butler thing?"

Mike stood up straight and cleared his throat. "Well… we couldn't find him. But that's not the issue here. I think we have all the evidence we need for a guilty verdict." He snapped his fingers. "Evidence; the gun." He snapped his fingers again. "Opportunity, the chore schedule." He snapped his fingers a third time, waving it across his face and up in the air, as dramatic as possible. "And motive, a fake disease in order to control." He clapped his hands. "One two three, and we're done."

I was starting to sweat, suddenly I felt stupid for putting Dr. Nost on the stand. Mike could make anything appear set in stone without a shred of proof. However, the evidense he just listed made a pretty good argument.

Right on cue, the judge said. "I think that pretty much sums up the whole case. I always thoat it was a bit open and shut…"

"Objection!!" I yelled at the top of my lungs. "Open and shut? Judge… did you hear about the butler's room?"

"Eh?" The judge shook his head. "What are you talking about."

"It's nothing." Mike tapped his fingers on his desk. "Mr. Truth managed to enter the butler's room. There was nothing of interest-,"

"Nothing of interest?" I pounded my desk. "I'd say a mattress covered in blood is pretty interesting!"

The court began rambling at this news.

"_-relative to this case. _It would help if you allowed me to finish my sentences." Mike frowned, still tapping his fingers.

"Ooh! Now I'm interested!" The judge smacked his gavel for no obvious reason. "Tell us more about this mattress covered in blood!"

"Are you sure your honor?" Mike laid back against the wall. "The way I'm seeing it, the butler's room is a separate crime scene with little to no relation to what we're currently debating."

I laughed, hardly able to contain myself. "The lady of the mansion dies the same night blood is spilled down the hall? I don't think they were very much separated."

"Agreed, agreed, agreed!" The judge smacked his gavel again. "Let's go! The court wants to hear more about this mysterious butler's bloody room!"

Mike sighed. "Well then, I should call the detective to the stand… but the doctors still there…"

She pursed her lips. "So sorry, am I in your way pretty-boy?"

"Now that's not very nice." Mike turned away and continued drumming his fingers.

"Let's make this quick." I cleared my throat. "Was Malady Vian really sick?"

"Well… of course…"

"Listen, we can't be here all day. I have you on recording telling the entire story." I lifted the tape recorder over my head. "Could you please just cut to the chase?"

"R-recording?" Her eyes shot left and right. "Umm… no, she wasn't really sick at all." She hung her head. "She offered me-."

"Not interested! Off the stand you go. Go on, get. Shoo."

She hurried off into the audience. I sighed, not caring if I had been rude. Getting all sympathetic with Sally Sob-stories would do nothing more than depress me.

"Well, now that there's room. The prosecution calls the detective Terry Scours to the stand."

I hunched over my desk. _Time to do some real cross-examining! _


	11. The Court Record: Intervention

**Evidence List:**

**

* * *

**To keep myself from getting overwhelmed, I occasionally have to peek at the contents of my court-record and throw out some uneeded evidence. I think I'll go over everything I know so far just in case while I do so.

--

Butler's Agenda: A comprehensive list of tasks to be carried out by the butler Monday through Saturday of every week. Most of his time is spent cleaning the house, cooking, or attending legal, municipal matters. He also made the tea that Raley delivered to her mother every night. If only we had found this earlier, I could have skipped past so many unnecessary arguments. Unlike the girls, he has quite a bit of time off duty. Interesting huh?

Small Handgun: A black .22 caliber pistol. Fingerprints all over the gun match a certain little princess I know. Ballistics ties the gun to the victim's fatal wound. Guess what that means? I'm screwed. That's what it means. (sigh)

Dia Nost's Testimony: Hey? Did you know the victim wasn't really sick?? … Yeah… you probably saw that one coming. Not much of a plot twist… Oh well, this testimony proves it. The victim started acting sick March 5th, so she's been at it for about four months.

Calling Bell (discarded): Don't see much use for this evidence anymore. It probably didn't accomplish much… do you even remember it? It's gone now. Proved to my client that I knew what Malady was doing to her. Malady made her two daughters wait hand and foot for her because she was 'sick'. How wonderfully that plan turned out…

Nokowt Tablets: Might still need this. Why? Call it a hunch. The victim takes two pills every night at 7:30. Highly effective, knocks patient out within ten minutes. Warning: Don't operate machinery or drive after ingesting (snicker, although they should probably include that on the warning table…). Collaborative evidence proves that victim died some time between 7:30 and 7:40.

Autopsy Report: Quite the informative document. (i.e. nothing of much use that hasn't been proven to a more specific degree by other evidence). Malady must not have taken her poison that night, the autopsy doesn't suggest there was any poison in her system.

Photo of Drug Box: Wow… forgot I had this. I took a picture of the drug box I found the Nokowt Tablets in. Quite a lot of medications in there. Say what you will about the victim faking her disease, that poison she took didn't make it very bearable. Explains why most of these are pain relievers. Some other medications appear. This one's for coughing, this one's for mucus buildup… funny… I don't remember those being symptoms of _Calculatius Falccotus…_

"Poisoned" Teacup: _Someone who will remain nameless _washed this out before we could get any drug residue out of it. And with our kind of residue-seeking technology, she must have _really_ washed it. Like… sanded it washed it. Either that or there was no poison in it, since there has not been any residue reaction so far. It's probably the fact that Missy washed this cup that I'm not chucking it out of my court record.

Packet of Poison: (discarded) We already have the testimony of the freaking doctor, we don't need this anymore.

Vian Manor Security System: Terry showed this to me. Apparently, the only way to get in and out of the manor is to grab the handle, which reads your fingerprints and determines whether you should be let in or not. Applies to all doors to bedrooms, kitchens (that's right, I said 'kitchens'… as in plural) and entrances to the manor. No record of break-ins on the night in question. In fact, no record of break-ins ever. Seems like a lot of money to throw away on security when your assailant comes from the inside, ironic really (I mean the butler, not my client. Although… I'm not so sure about him any more… hence this evidence).

Photo of Butler's Room: Wow… ever seen a horror movie poster? Picture a bare single-size bed with only the sheets, large puddles of still-thick blood resting on the top. Guess what else? Stuff's knocked over, blood's everywhere… and some of the blood isn't even the butler's! (Too bad this other person's blood isn't on record. Suddenly the butler doesn't seem so suspicious anymore…)

Door to Butler's Room: Has the letters "ENT-" on it. The last bit was an attempted "e" that the butler apparently didn't have enough time to scrawl. The butler was trying to write how to enter the room. Now that I think about it… what was in the room that the butler was so eager to disclose as he was dragged away that night? Did we miss something? Well, apparently the attacker freaked out when he saw the writing on the door and tried his best to rub it away. Sorry pal, you can't get past _these _eyes.

Raley's Testimony: Since she's the defendant, nobody's going to take it completely seriously. It does, however, tell us that at about 7:31 she came out of her mother's room after delivering the tea (and having a rather lively discussion I expect), she saw someone with the butler in tow. The butler was severely injured and couldn't walk as much as stay conscious. The person with the butler began chasing Raley. She won't tell me why, but I know she recognized him. She won't tell me anything past this point (sigh).

Daughters' Schedule: This came up a bit in the last trial. Apparently, during the time of the murder, no one should have been in the house except the victim and my client. Missy came back at about 7:43, proven by multiple witness testimony.

Picture of Victim's Open Drawer: A sortof-secret compartment in Malady's nightstand containing packets of rat poison. Further investigation reveals that all packets in the drawer were empty. What might this mean? I dunno.

* * *

That seems to be all the evidence I need… Good thing I keep the court record so close, I need hourly reminders with all this evidence cluttering up my files.


	12. Chapter 11

YO. Its been a while (like always). Yes I know it's a bit short. But the contradiction here is gonna be huge. Prepare yourself!  
Also, I think I should put in a "Disclaimer" or something? Here it goes...

I wish I owned Ace Attorney. But I don't. I, however, have secured the names, Jace Attorney, Ace Fraternity, and Bologna and Greg.

Enjoy the chapter.

--

"So, Terry, to sum up your testimony so far… you've found… _nothing_?"

He nodded, sweat glistening on his almost-bare forehead, his knitted sweater, polo shirt combo dampening like a runner in a marathon. I held my hand to my temple, throbbing in frustration.

"You're sure… you found, absolutely nothing?"

He nodded again.

Mike cleared his throat, stealing the court's attention. "Like I said, what proves that this bloody bed has anything to do with our current incident? For all we know, the room could have been like this long before the night of the murder."

"Hold it!" I threw my finger at the prosecution. "Think Mike, would you ever sleep in a blood-stained bed?"

Mike shook his head. "You're missing the point, all I'm saying is that there is no proof the incidents are related." He smiled, lightly drumming his fingers on his desk. "Show me some hard evidence, and maybe we can get things rolling."

"Gordon! I don't think we have any evidence!" Clara wrapped her arms around my shoulder. "How can Mr. Angelo stand there and say these things?"

I raised my right fist and slammed it onto the desk. "You're Honor! The defense requests that the witness testify again!"

"OBJECTION!" Mike flew his right arm upward. "Did you hear the good detective? He says that they found absolutely nothing else of relevance in the butler's room!"

"Well… then…" I paused wildly grasping in my mind. _I need a contradiction… any contradiction!_ "The defense wants to hear the detective testify on the police department's theory of what happened in the butler's room!"

The judge blinked. "Umm… really?"

"OBJECTION! The defense is asking the witness to speculate!" Mike brought his right fist down, then his left onto the desk. "Such a question is illegal!"

"OBJECTION! From the witness's testimony and the prosecution's statements, the police department already has an explanation for the butler's room, since I haven't heard any other theories! I think the court should hear this explanation in order to make a proper judgment!""

The judge shook his head. "I'm not sure I follow. From what the defense and prosecution are saying, the legality of the defense's question for the witness is under scrutiny. It is the opinion of this court that if the detective does indeed have a completely valid explanation for the events in the butler's room, we should be able to hear it."

"IN YOUR FACE!"

"The defense will refrain from frivolous gloating at the prosecution."

"Sorry your honor…"

The judge cleared his throat. "Detective Scours, please give us an explanation of what happened in the butler's room."

Terry coughed. "Well, your honor, you first have to realize that we can't exactly prove when any of this happened, and we can only guess as to how long the butler has been missing…

"Hold It! Can't an analysis of the blood tell us how long the carpet was stained? The time of the spilling of blood could be measured this way!"

"W-ell…" Terry rubbed his head. "Y'see… something like that doesn't really work the way you see it on TV. Tell me, how long has it been since the main crime was committed, the shooting of the mistress?"

Surprised by Terry's somewhat confident demeanor, I stammered in my response. "Umm… I guess that would be… four days ago?"

Terry nodded. "Usually, a blood stain test like Mr. Truth is thinking about is done as soon as we find the blood, giving us an estimated of the time of death. This blood, however, has had four whole days, maybe more, to sink into the carpet. Any stain test we could have done would not turn up any results."

"Oh…" I scratched the back of my head, grinning nervously. "I see…" I cleared my throat. "Continue, I guess."

"Anyway… we can't really tell how long the butler has been missing. Also, the only blood found was inside the room, meaning the struggle only took place inside. The only person who could open the door was the butler himself, as none of the other residents knew the password to his room…"

"For the record…" I held my fist up to my chin in thought. "Who was it that managed to figure out the password and get the door open?"

Terry nodded. "Well, it was you, Mr. Truth."

The court rambled a bit at this news.

"Mr. Truth, you single-handedly deduced the password to the hidden crime scene?" He nodded as well. "Most impressive, although I'd usually expect the prosecution and detective force to figure these things out first."

Clara scooted her chair closer to mine. "What was the point of that question, Gordon?"

"Just a self-esteem boost." I grinned. "And check out Mike's face, he's white as a ghost."

"AS I WAS SAYING…" said the reddening detective. "The fact that the struggle only took place in the butler's room suggests that…"

"Someone knocked?" Mike said, drumming his fingers.

The detective nodded. "And the butler definitely knew the attacker, since he let them into his room. A struggle then broke out, we can only guess as to who came out on top."

"And the bodies?" I pointed to the detective. "What about where this butler and mysterious attacker ended up? Can you tell the court anything about that?"

Terry began sweating more and more. "I well… y'see… that question…"

"-is illegal." Mike piped in out of the blue.

I pounded my desk. "What? How can you…?"

"I remember this being an issue before," he said, drumming his fingers faster as his excitement grew, "but the defense cannot ask the witness to speculate. While I believe this entire testimony is naught but speculation, the good judge allowed it to exist." He snapped his fingers. "However! This question cannot under any circumstances be allowed. The police may have an explanation for what _might _have happened in the butler's room, but this question OBVIOUSLY have no basis."

The judge nodded. "The court sees the prosecution's point, objection sus-"

"HOLD IT! The defense requests that… the detective be treated as a hostile witness!"

The judge shook his head. "Sorry, but it's too late for that Mr. Truth. The detective testified, and it seems that there had been no change. From what I've heard, the prosecution's claim that the two scenes are unrelated is water-tight."

I pounded my desk again. "**ONE CONTRADICTION!** T-there is one contradiction in the detective's testimony!"

The court began rambling again. The judge sounded his mallet and the stirring crowd quieted.

"Obviously the defense is grasping wildly." Mike crossed his arms, looking stern. "There cannot be any possible contradiction in the witness's testimony. Looking over it now, all the pieces fit together perfectly!"

"Oh really, Mike?" I grinned. "Would you call this puzzle complete?"

"What?" he grasped the sides of his desk, his yellow spiked-in-the-front hair dangling into his face.

"You say the pieces all fit together, but you are missing a vital piece of the puzzle! A piece I can show you, through hard evidence!" I slammed down my fist. "This is the evidence that turns this whole puzzle around!"

_What is this incredible piece of evidence? What contradicts the detective's story?_

_For a complete list of evidence, please consult the previous chapter, 'Intermission: Evidence List'._


	13. Chapter 12

HOORAY FOR ALMOST IMMEDIATE UPDATE! I've finally gotten over my writer's block! Expect the rest of Turnabout Enigma (BTW, I'm renaming it Turnabout Plague after it's completed, just so you know...)  
The movie's taking FOREVER... because the guy that owns the camera is too BUSY with BAND and other THINGS... GAH!!!  
Truth me though... it's gonna be epic... IF IT EVER GETS RELEASED!!!!  
...Enjoy (also I took out the character in-depth thing............................. because I don't want to do them anymore. Hows that for a down-to-earth excuse?)

--

"The fight only took place inside the room, you say?"

The detective nodded. "Of course, the police department is certain of this fact."

"Fact, or faux?" I threw my picture of the butler's door onto my desk. "Perhaps the good detectives have heard of a little something called 'Luminal'?"

"W-what is this?" both the witness and prosecution were red in the face.

"I'll tell you!" I pounded my desk. "This door is covered with blood!"

The courtroom was silent. Mike appeared to stare through me, look at his watch, then continue drumming his fingers. The detective was completely befuddled, rubbing his head with a passion.

The judge was the first to speak. "Mr. Truth. Are you feeling alright?"

"W-what?" I leaned over my desk, sweat pouring off my forehead.

"I don't think I'm the only one looking at this photograph… of a perfectly normal-looking door!"

I bit my lip and threw my arm in front of me as if to block an incoming blow. "W-w-w-w-w-w-w-w-w-haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?? Y-you mean you don't see it? W-what?... Just look at the door! The blood is obvious!"

"Gordon, you're getting ahead of yourself." Mike snapped his fingers to attract the court's attention.

"Mr. Angelo, do you have a rebuttal?" said the judge.

"Actually, I don't." He pointed towards me. "For all I know, this door probably does have blood on it."

"Wwwww-ww-w-w-wwhaaaaaat?" The judge blinked rapidly and shook his head. "Explain yourselves!"

Mike motioned toward me. "Say Gordon, did you happen to bring your glasses to court today?"

Suddenly it dawned on me, why no-one else could see the blood. _Wow, that was stupid of me._ I nodded. "Of course, I bring them with me everywhere."

"T-the vision of the defense attorney is not in question!" said the judge, narrowing his eyes.

Mike shook his head. "Actually judge, as soon as that evidence was presented, Gordon's **eyesight **became a prominent factor in the case."

"R-really?" Said the judge, once again showing his over-reliance on hyphens to portray confused speech patterns.

"Gordon Truth has a rare genetic condition we call '**Blood Vision**'. When wearing these glasses, not only can he **see any trace amounts of blood, **but he can also **see through people and diagnose any biological malfunctions**."

_Added to court record: Gordon's glasses_

The court was completely silent, the judge's mouth gaping. And then, slightly at first, but steadily growing, the court became a din of screams and shouts of disbelief. The judge eventually realized he had the power to quiet the ruckus and began pounding his gavel. "Bailiff! Have a team of forensics specialists examine that door immediately!"

"Why?" said Mike quiet suddenly. "Why would you do that, your honor?"

"Why?" the judge narrowed his brow. "To see if there is any truth to what Mr. Truth is saying!"

"And so what if there is?" He looked to the ceiling again, drumming his fingers on his desk like always. "There's blood on the door, so what? What exactly does that prove? That while the two fought inside, someone left the door open and some blood splashed onto it? I doubt this has anything to do with the butler incident, much less the reason we're all actually here. Remember this lady named Malady Vian? SHE'S the victim in this trial, so I fail to see why we are mucking about with such trifling details."

"Your honor!"

The judge blinked in surprise. "What is it bailiff? It's only been about three minutes since I called on you to…"

"One of the junior detectives just sprayed the door with luminal, he's on my cell right now, I'll put him on speaker phone!"

The judge blinked in surprise again. "R-really, there's no need…"

_~"Hello? Hello? Can anyone hear me?"~ _A sudden gruff voice made its way through the speakers of the bailiff's phone.

"We can hear you fine." I crossed my arms and smirked. "So detective, what have you found?"

_~"AH yes! You see, we just so happened to get a call from some police official who told us he got a call from a bailiff… we were told to spray this err… Looming Tall stuff on a door. We didn't think anything of it, but BOY were we surprised when… there was all this blood on the door! But it was in a distinct pattern, as if someone had written on this door in blood!"~_

The court jumped at this moment to yell out their theories to other audience members and the like. A few tried to shout loud enough to alert the detective on the phone. The judge rang his mallet. "Please! I beg silence from the court! The detective is hard enough to hear as is!"

_~"Anywho, it spells 'E', 'N', 'T', then a little squiggle line at the end, just a '-'. I just took a photo of it, where's the nearest faxing machine?"~_

"T-that would be in my chambers!" The judge nodded his head in the excitement. "I must go and fetch it with haste!" And in a sudden motion he flew from his chair. Seizing the opportunity, the court was cast into a jumbled rabble as audience members talked without fear of contempt.

"What does all of this mean?" Clara tightened her grasp on my shoulder. "I mean, everyone knows about your secret trump card now…"

"You mean my eyesight?" I shook my head. "'Tis merely a flesh wou- condition. It's what I see with it that matters."

"But I mean, it's great you found a contradiction and all, but…" She looked worryingly at Mike. "It doesn't seem like it proves anything at all. Like Mike said before we heard from the bailiff…"

I smirked. "Just wait, this is the evidence that's going to turn this entire case around."

--

"Fascinating! So this, err… **blood vision **triggers when you put these glasses on because of… umm… well it doesn't-really-matter. B-but you can see blood and even… problems with someone's body?"

"It's like an X-ray, if you need something to compare it to your honor."

The judge nodded. "R-really? So then… could I… ask-you-a-very-important-favor?"

The judge's anxiety was making me nervous. "Um… I guess so…"

"Take a look at my insides!" He shouted, his eyes wide. "Tell me the Truth, because I'm not feeling too well of late!"

"I rubbed the back of my head. "Well, I _suppose…_"

"EXCUSE ME YOUR HONOR!!" Mike thrust his fists into his desk. "But what about this very important evidence you were supposed to fetch from your chambers!? Might we possibly have a look before anyone here undergoes surgery?"

The judge blinked rapidly, obviously embarrassed. "O-oh… right. Sorry Truth, but that diagnosis is going to have to wait."

_He's saying this like the whole thing was __**my **__idea…_

The judge cleared his throat. "Here is a picture of the door in question, taken by a camera behind a luminal lens so everybody here can see the reaction."

An almost perfect representation of what I saw on the door made its way to both sides of the court. Mike's eyes sunk a bit.

"Well, we can obviously see that there is blood on this door, and that someone wrote on the door with it!" the judge slammed his mallet. "However, I'm suddenly skeptical of the defense's point…"

"As are we all…" Mike added.

The judge continued. "Yes there is blood on this door. But… the only words I can think of are not 'contradiction', but more of a… 'so what'?"

"Like I said earlier…" Mike again added.

"The court asks the defense, how exactly does this contradict the detective's testimony? The prosecution brought up the possibility that the door was open during the struggle. Blood could have found its way on the door then."

"Exactly!" Mike nodded. "So what if it looks like letters are written on it? You can't prove anything with a bloody door!"

_Wow, um… never thought of it that way… could the door have been open when the blood found its way onto the door?_

A cold, sloshy substance flew into my hair. "Gordon! How could you possibly hesitate? You should know this one!" Clara clenched her fists and took out another blue popsicle. "Remember, how did you get into the room in the first place?"

"Well, I figured out the password!" I rested my hands on my hips. _That's right! All hail the mighty half-ace attorney, half-ace detective. Sherlock Holmes #2 over here baby!_

"And how did you know the password?"

"Well… that's right! The bloody message on the door told me. 'ENT-,' was an unfinished 'ENTER', which meant the 'enter' button on the keypad on the handle of the door!"

"Now think! **Why does that message even exist? **Who could have possibly have written that blood, and why?"

Suddenly, everything made sense. "**EGAD! EXCLAMATION! ****EPIPHANY****!** I understand it now!" I patted my sister on the top of her head. "You are so SMART! Many popsicles shall be yours!" She giggles in response and licked her popsicle dry.

I cleared my throat (which was quickly getting sore from all the throat-clearings). "Sorry Mike, but such an explanation is impossible!"

"What?" He grasped the sides of his desk, his hair in his sweating face again. "How could you… there is no… evidence of such…!" He lost himself in his muddled words.

I smirked. "Do you want to know how I cracked the code and managed to open the door to the butler's room?"

"Isn't because you're an expert investigator?" The judge widened his eyes.

"Nup :3" I said. "Well, kinda. But there's more to it. You see, I saw the words scrawled on the door with my blood vision. You can check this on the door, but the secret password on the keypad is… that there **is no password!**"

"Huh… How…. WHAT???" Mike pulled the sides of his desk as his grip on it tightened.

"The letters 'ENT-,' written on the door is a message telling the secret behind the code! Assuming the letter at the end that was left unfinished is another 'E', tell me Mike, what does the word 'ENTE' make you think of?"

His grip didn't loosen, "Well, 'ENTE'? You mean, like… '**ENTER?**"

"That's exactly what I mean! The only way to unlock the door is to simply press the 'ENTER' button on the keypad!"

"Oh… OOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Terry shouted, almost jumping in excitement. "I should have known as soon as I saw that picture!" He began rubbing his head ferociously again.

"What does this prove, exactly?" asked the judge.

"That's what I'd like to know!" said Mike, clasping his sweating head in an almost Ian-like imitation.

"My point is simply this: only the butler knew the password, right?"

"Right…" said the judge.

"So the question becomes, **why would he right instructions on how to enter an open room?**"

"AHHHHHHHH!!!!!" Mike's grip loosened on the desk and his arms shot upward around his head, elbows bent and face staring directly at the floor in the middle of the courtroom. _Now that's a characteristic flinch if I ever saw one…_

"If the door was open, why would he write how to enter the room? No, the only reason he would write such instructions was if the door was **closed**. And which side is the bloody message written? Why, on the outside, the side facing the hallway!" I slammed my desk. "You say it changes nothing? Well now you see… IT CHANGES EVERYTHING!!!"

I pounded my desk again. "The defense states that it has proven two things. One: Not only did the two in the room both survive the fight, they **brought it out into the hallway**! Two: The butler was overpowered in the hallway by the attacker, proven by the bloody writing. Not only does the blood on the door prove that it was closed at the time of the writing, but the inscription is **incomplete**! The only explanation is that the other person, the attacker, overpowered the butler at that moment! ALSO, the butler could not have fainted mid-writing, since there is no downward smudge where he stopped writing the second 'E'!"

Smirking, I crossed my arms. "By this evidence, one can almost know for certain the attackers **motive **in attacking the butler!"

"How…? What…? Huh…?" Mike was at a loss for words, his lips foaming slightly.

I presented a diagram of the butler's room. "Let's go through what really happened in the butler's room, shall we? The attacker knocks at the door, and the butler opens the door. Whether the attacker attacked then, or was let in first remains uncertain. However, a struggle did break out in the room. But the struggle doesn't end there! As I proved, both parties moved into the hallway. Now think, **why would they do that**?"

"Erm…" the judge looked at the ceiling. "Perhaps one was trying to get away?"

I shook my head. "The blood at the scene mostly belonged to the butler, and only a small fraction belonged to this unknown attacker. We can only conclude that this fight was extremely one-sided." I pointed to a small diagram of the butler's room on my desk. "But then the two made their way out to the hallway? If the fight was so one-sided, why would the victim follow his attacker out the door? And how for that instance? The victim obviously lost a lot of blood!"

"Where are you going with this?" said the judge. "Didn't you say something about the attacker's motive?"

"That's right!" I nodded. "You see, this fight wasn't the scene of a simple assault, it was in fact the scene of a **kidnapping!**"

"Wha-… Really?" The judge shook his head. "Kidnapping?"

"It's simple when you think of it." I rested my hands on my desk and took a seat. "The butler was overpowered in his own room, but ended up writing a message in blood on the outside of his door from the hallway. That would only be possible if **the attacker brought the butler with him as he left the room!**"

Terry gasped and cupped his hands to his mouth. "Holy Cow! He's right!"

Mike was drumming his fingers extremely rapidly, sweat dripping off his forehead. "I have to say, I didn't see that one coming…"

The judge nodded. "It definitely seems that this was the case… But why? Why would the butler write such on his door?"

I rested my chin on my fist. "Well, you see… he knew that there was a lot of blood in his room. I bet he even knew some of the blood wasn't his. He probably wrote instructions on the door in order for someone to find the room the way it was left in." I presented the picture of the butlers room. "I'm sure that if someone saw this, the first numbers to pop into their head would be '911'. But as soon as the door was closed, the proof of what happened to him would be forever sealed. The butler thought he **had no choice,** if the door remained closed, the proof would fade. No-one could tell when and how the door would ever be opened again, and by then, there would be so many possibilities of when the blood got there, that an investigation would turn up no results."

"Is that your theory?" Mike seemed to have recovered, standing still and sure. "I'm afraid that's still a problem, **when this happened**… There's absolutely no evidence that can support when this incident actually happened. For all we know, the butler could have disappeared long ago, and the Vians just haven't told us."

"He's right, Gordon! You can't prove when this kidnapping happened!" Clara chewed on an empty popsicle stick nervously. "Everything you fought to prove, he's saying it basically means nothing!"

I shook my head. "I'm aware of that. Right now, it doesn't matter."

Clara's eyes widened. "What? What do you mean?"

"Remember this?" I said, waving a piece of paper under her nose. "Raley gave us a testimony in her detention cell yesterday. If I can prove parts of her testimony, she may be able to convince the judge her testimony is true when she takes the stand."

"Oh…" Clara smiled. "Well, when you put it that way… I guess I can see your strategy. So what are we waiting for?" She pumped her hands into the air. "Let's call her to the stand so she can give the testimony!"

"Not yet, Clara."

"W-what?" Her popsicle almost fell out of her mouth. "Why?"

I looked at my client on the other side of the desk. She was hewing on her hair like her younger sister, eyes almost watering and sweat dripping down her neck. I shook my head.

"It seems the only thing you have proven is that the butler was kidnapped at some time." Mike yawned. "Now that I think about it… I don't think there's much to add."

"Are you saying the prosecution accepts this as a fact?" said the judge.

Mike shrugged. "Fact? Possibility? Evidence? I'm a bit tired of it all actually. In fact, we're all tired. So, your honor, if you would please go ahead and smack that gavel and say 'Guilty' so we can all go home for some well-deserved sleep?"

"What? H-hey!" I pounded my desk. "We're not finished here!"

"Oh? I say we are. Also, while I'm at it, I'd like to add that your entire theory of the butler; is **meaningless.**"

"W-what? How can you say that?"

"Oh sure, the evidence definitely points toward the possibility of the butler being kidnapped. But so what?"

"What are you saying Mr. Angelo?" said the judge with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm saying that all the defense has done is serve us a large, steaming plate of red herring, with nothing on the side." He snapped his fingers. "Quite delicious, but hardly filling for the stomach!"

The judge nodded his head, "What an exquisitely thought out metaphor."

"He truly is a master of language," said Clara, smiling.

"I'm only really fluent in objecting." I said.

"Here comes the main course!" Mike slammed his desk. "How about a murder weapon with the defendant's fingerprints all over it? And for dessert, the defendant was the only one at the mansion with a motive! The other sister was walking the dog, and the butler was obviously unable to do much. Ergo!" He raised both fists over his head and thrust them into his desk. "There is no way this girl is not the murderer!" He smirked. "Are you enjoying your humble pie, Gordon?"

"Ok, I have to admit, the metaphors are getting a little redundant." The judge shook his head. "But the prosecution does have a very **meaty** argument."

_The judge's in on it now, is he? _I slammed my desk. "Check please!"

The court was silent. "Gordon, it's a bit too late for that…" said Clara, patiently licking her popsicle.

"The court agrees, the joke's over now," said the judge as he narrowed his eyes at me, "back to business Mr. Truth!"

I pulled at my collar. "Yes, well…" I coughed into a clenched fist. "Anyway…" I jutted my arm toward Mike. "**THERE WAS ANOTHER PERSON AT THE MANSION THAT NIGHT!!!**"

"W-what???" Mike grabbed the edges of his desk, which gave way and shot above his head as his head thrust forward.

"We should all know that there was someone who wasn't supposed to be at the mansion when the butler was kidnapped. Right?"

"Umm… Ohhh… Ah!" Mike's hair fell into his face again. "Are you saying?"

I nodded "Not only did this mystery attacker kidnap the butler **on the night of the crime… **the defense states that this person **also killed the victim that night!**"

Mike almost jumped. "AHH!!"

I pointed to the prosecutor's desk. "You say it changes nothing? Well now you see… IT CHANGES EVERYTHING!!!"

"I think you already said that…" Clara said, holding her popsicle next to her ear and peering at the ceiling in thought.

"No nononononoNO NO **NNNOOOOOOOOO!**" Mike pounded his desk. "That is SOOOOO untrue!!!"

"Looks like our great metaphorical poet has reduced his vocabulary to that of a 16 year old girl." Clara said, smiling at me.

"Look, I've already told you that you can't prove WHEN this happened! Are you suggesting that you're just going to ignore evidence and just claim all of this happened at one?"

"Oh, I'm going to prove it," I said, arms crossed.

"W-what? How could you…?"

"First, there's something that just doesn't add up…" I said, scratching my chin.

"The only thing here that doesn't add up is your pitiful attempt at logic Mr. Truth!"

For a moment, I saw my good friend Mike Angelo is a slightly different light. _As soon as I brought up the butler, he's suddenly become so… Ian-ish. What's going on with him?_

Suddenly, it dawned on me.

_**NYM…**__ what if they're involved?_

Mike would be under a ton of pressure, and he definitely knew more about the case then he was letting on. But Mike wouldn't ever do such a thing… he was probably grouchy from his lack of sleep last night. But one thing was certain, we weren't exactly cooperating anymore.

"They say he's never lost a case… maybe he's just trying to protect his title," said Clara, again looking to the ceiling in thought.

"A-hem…" I coughed into my fist. "As I was saying, something doesn't add up here. We all know someone was in the mansion at one point of time, someone **who didn't belong there!**"

"Mr. Truth, where are you going with this?" said the judge.

I shook my head. "Think, there's **obviously a contradiction here!**"

"Oh really, Gordon?" said Mike, flicking his hair out of his eyes. "Perhaps you should show us some evidence of this contradiction."

"Gladly!" I pounded my desk. "**Someone else was in the mansion? That contradicts this evidence!**"

_What is this contradictory evidence?_

_For a complete list of evidence, please consult the chapter, 'Intermission: Evidence List'._


	14. Chapter 13

_Wus up?? I'm back!!  
That's all. Really, that's it. I don't own ANYTHING._

_ENJOY THIS ****, *****ES!!!_

_---_

_Slam! BANG! Whip-out-pointer-finger!! _"Whubaaam! Try this on for size!"

The judge narrowed his eyes at me. "Whubaaam'?"

I scratched the back of my head, eyes squinting in embarrassment. "Umm… let's just pretend I said 'Take That', okay?" I shook my head to regain my composure. "Anyway! Take a look at this!" I pounded the picture I just slammed onto my desk. "It's a picture of the Vian's back door, the one Missy used when she walked the dog that night!"

Mike slammed his desk. "Of course! It all makes sense to me now! This changes EVERYTHING!!!" He paused. "Not."

"But wait, there's more!" I said, doing my best Billy Mays impression. "Take a look at the keypad-system next to the door! Know what that is? **The incredibly super-expensive, super-effective home security system!** It will only let people in if their fingerprints match any stored in the system's database, which includes all of the Vians, including the butler, Albert Reeves!"

"Wait…" said the judge, brow furrowed. "Are you saying… **that there are machines that can read fingerprints?!?!?!??????**"

There was a moment of silence. A strange chill flew through me; does this judge know _anything _about modern technology?

After what felt like an hour (but was actually a few seconds) Mike yawned, politely cupping his mouth with his right hand. "So you're saying that because of this security system, nobody could have gotten inside the mansion that wasn't supposed to be there, right?"

"Exactly!" I said, pointing at him for no particular reason.

"Do you have a list of the approved persons able to use the system?" he asked.

My face fell. "Erm… no… but I'm pretty sure that…"

"Pretty sure' isn't proof, Gordon." He snapped his fingers. "You cannot present this evidence without-,"

"I have a list…" said a sudden, meek voice from the witness stand. Mike gasped, losing his train of thought instantly. I smiled.

Terry adjusted his glasses. "I have a list right here. Like the defense suggests, the system recognizes all of the Vians involved, and the butler, of course. Nobody else."

Mike's face dropped. "W-what? Nobody else?"

"No one."

He slammed his desk. "HOSTILE WITNESS! HOSTILE WITNESS!"

The judge shook his head. "Whether he is or not has no bearing on your case right now. You're not questioning him!"

Mike twitched, sweat dripping from his face. "Detective, you are supposed to tell the prosecution these sorts of things!"

"But you never…"

"ZIPPIT!"

Terry stuck out his bottom lip in an almost Doug Grave-ish manner.

"So… now that that's over. My evidence is **irrefutable**! Any other person could not have been able to get inside the Vian mansion without help!"

Mike began tapping his fingers again. "So, let me try to clear this up. Are you saying that because of this security system, no one else could have been able to kill the victim except one of the Vian sisters or the butler?"

I rubbed my forehead. "Not… exactly…" I shook my head. "The defense believes that the murderer's true intention that night was only to kidnap the butler, so it would have had to be someone from outside. Missy was not inside the mansion at that time, and Raley was about to present her mother with some tea. At this time, the butler found himself in a bit of a predicament. You see… this was exactly the time of the attempted kidnapping!"

Mike shook his head. "You're saying that the conflict in the butler's room took place in this timeslot? While Missy was out walking the dog and Raley was inside doing _who-knows-what_? I'm afraid this is going to take a lot to prove."

I sighed. "I'll prove it… with a witness."

"Wha-?" He looked taken aback, as if that was the last thing he would have expected me to say. "W-what witness? How can anyone involved testify…"

"One of your witnesses actually…" I said, tapping my finger to my chin. "I've been wondering… you keep saying that you have witnesses for this, witnesses for that…"

"For what? What are you talking about?" he said, clenching his teeth.

"Why, Missy Vian's trip outside the mansion of course! You keep saying 'we have witnesses to prove it' and such. Now I'm questioning your witnesses, and would very much like for one of them to take the stand…"

"Well, why… um…" Mike began erratically drumming his fingers without any rhythm.

"Surely the prosecution hasn't been lying about having a witness to such?" said the judge, ready to pounce with a penalty.

"No! No, I have witnesses. I-I just never paid them much attention. Well, let me just take a look at this witness list here…" he pulled a document out of nowhere and scanned it for a good minute. "Well, it looks like one of my witnesses is actually in the courtroom with us today. That's mighty convenient…"

"So…" I said, my hand grasping the back of my neck. "Who is it?"

"His name is…" He flinched. "What? No! It can't be… **HIM?**"

The judge seemed tempted to slam his gavel in suspense. "Well? Who is it?"

Mike shook his head again. "I-it appears that one of the witnesses from this court's last case has snuck his way into this one… he is a town bird watcher and former Air Force veteran…"

"No…" I plastered my hands on my desk. "You don't mean…"

He nodded. "If a Mr. **Roger Watcher **will take the stand?"

The court began murmuring distantly as a grey-haired, blue-scarved, leather avian-cap touting bird-watcher wandered to the front of the courtroom with a confused expression on his gently wrinkled face.

"This is going to be a long day…" I murmured.

--

Mike had a twenty minute recess to prep his new witness as both parties shambled out of the courtroom into their respective quarters. I sat on the bench near the door and sighed, Clara taking my hand into hers to show her support.

"You look how I feel sweetheart." Said Raley Vian as she took a seat on my other side, absent-mindedly licking a blue popsicle (which she no doubt got from Clara in the courtroom) and staring off into the distance.

Regularly I would have stammered "S-sweetheart?" and started another argument with my disagreeable client. However, as the events of the last few days weighed down on me and my mental state, I simply nodded and relaxed my back against the wall.

For another ten minutes the scene didn't change much: three equally-distressed and worn souls sitting on the defense bench; too absorbed in their shared problems to pay much attention to anything else. It was in that instant, when the gloom felt like it was seeping in from the door and growing on the walls, we were the same. If I had a hat, I would have tipped it then, for some reason I failed to recall. It just felt like the time to tip a hat.

I finally found the strength to say, "Are you ready to take the stand?"

Raley didn't move or change her expression at all. "I don't know… I'm still afraid of saying too much…"

"But here in isolation… you could tell me, couldn't you?"

She finished her blue, melting treat and turned her head away from me. "I don't know… I just don't understand… any of it…"

I sighed, "That makes two of us." For some reason, I felt that was all I was going to get out of her. I looked toward the empty defense lounge in longing for one of Benjamin's end-of-quarter prep-talks. That was another thing: Benjamin Bell, missing along with the butler, Albert Reeves. Could there possibly be a connection? Was Benjamin abducted by the same people?

Was he even still _alive?_

"The recess is over. Please return to the defense bench."

I nodded without looking up. Both women whispered sweet things of praise and support as we made our way back into the courtroom, but I was too deep in thought to pay much attention to what they were saying. As the doors closed behind me, I thought I could see the silhouette of Judy Ryut. But it disappeared as the doors snapped shut.

--

"Name and occupation please."

The courtroom was stained golden-brown from the sunlight filtering through the small amount of windows on both sides of the chamber. Wide, arching shadows moved this way and that as the sun steadily began to set in the distance.

Mr. Roger Water had just taken the stand, rather nervous looking; twisting his blue scarf in his hands and feeling around his neck as if expecting to feel something there.

"Name and occupation?" Mike repeated.

"O-oh… sorry there lad!" He faced sideways, holding his hand over his chest as wind blew his scarf the other direction is a dramatic pose. _Where does that wind COME from?_

"Umm…" said Mike, uncomfortable with having to repeat himself once again. "Name and occupation?"

"Roger Richard Watcher the third!" He pulled down his goggles and shined them on his aviator vest. "You see, all my family have been aviators since the beginning of the commercialized aircraft. The first one to fly was the very first Roger Watcher, and we've kept that name since as a token of respect." He snapped his goggles back into place. "Although I have to admit, it does confuse quite a bit of people into thinking my first and last name are identical…"

Mike coughed. "Occupation? And no more sidetracking anecdotes this time?"

"S-sorry. You could say that in my old age, I've been retired from flying for quite some time. I resume chasing my passion for the skies by studying the birds that so effortlessly soar through it without wind or rudder. It's invigorating I tell you! How these small animals are capable of so much more than the human body could hope for. How often I wonder if someday one might stumble upon the secret of human flight so we may be able to float as freely as the little aviators that already litter the great blue skies. Why, I've dreamt of it so often now that simply 'dreaming' it has become redundant! All I want to do is stretch my arms and…"

"THAT IS QUITE ENOUGH!!!" The judge shouted. "This has clearly gone way beyond simple introductions! Any more unrelated outbursts will result in penalties for everyone!"

Mike nodded. "Yes, we may speculate about the natural human longing of flight later, for now we must settle with the unfortunate demise of one Ms. Malady Vian."

"I always thought that the secret to flight was to throw yourself at the ground and miss…" said Clara without much thought.

"If it pleases the court…" Mike began. "I'd like to ask the witness to testify as to what he saw on the night of the murder."

"Yes, the defense would like to know just how in the world Mr. Watcher managed to blunder his way into this one." I added.

"B-blunder?" the old gentleman stuttered.

"Well, let's get on with it before we have to be subjected to further drabble." The judge banged his mallet. "Mr. Roger Roger Roger, what did you see on the night of the murder?"

The old man cleared his throat. "Roger _Watcher?"_

"Isn't that what I said?" said the judge, innocently blinking his eyes.

Mike shook his head. "Please, to the testimony?"

"R-roger that!" said the witness, scarf once again a-flutter. "You see… I was taking my usual route home that night; and it sure was a warm one let me tell you… I was almost tempted to slip off my hat and vest!"

"Does this man wear that ridiculous getup everywhere he goes?" I whispered under my breath, a light sweat glistening on my forehead.

Roger continued. "Anyway, one my way past the front of the mansion, I noticed a young beauty make her way out the door with a most charming looking canine on a glittering leash. She had short red hair, and she kept chewing it like she was nervous or something…"

The judge cleared his throat. "Mr. Roger, can you identify this lady in this courtroom today?"

He pulled his goggles over his eyes and faced the wind as it blew his scarf around. "I most certainly can!"

"I-… is there a draft in here of something? Where is that confounded wind coming from?" the judge added.

The witness shoved his right arm into the air, dramatically swinging it down in an arc to point directly at a certain redheaded lady in the audience, Missy Vian. "It was this young girl! No doubt about it!"

The audience managed a few mumbled replies to Roger's dramatics. The judge nodded his head. "This all seems in order…"

"**Hold It!" **

I also shoved my arm into the air, swinging it down to face the witness. "How can you be so sure? It was very dark out at that time, if we are assuming that your testimony coincides with the time the Vian schedule says Missy should have stepped outside. Which was when?"

"W-well…" Roger scratched his head. "I'd say it was about seven o-clock on the dollar when she stepped out, according to my watch…"

"That sounds correct." Said Mike.

"So how are you able to identify so clearly for the court here? Are you entirely sure that you saw her in front of the mansion, like you said?"

"Well excuse me Mr. Intrusive." He adjusted his floppy cap. "As I was going to say, she happened to pass under a street light on her walk. It was in that instant that I saw her entire figure perfectly lit. So yes, I was able to identify her clearly, as you say."

"This testimony is really strong!" said Clara, clenching her fists, "Or weak, depending on what you're trying to do. Actually, what ARE you trying to prove here?"

I wiped the sweat off my head. "Not sure myself."

"If I remember correctly," said Mike Angelo from the other side of the courtroom. "You pointed out that an outsider could not have gotten into the Vian Mansion the night of the murder, you proved this with the Vian security system."

"But it didn't add up…" Clara rubbed her chin, staring absentmindedly at the ceiling. "You see, evidence suggests that the butler was **kidnapped**, but how could that be if no-one could enter the Vian Mansion besides the Vians and the butler himself?"

"And thus, our contradiction was born." Mike mused to himself, grinning. "However, one could argue this 'suggesting evidence' as coincidence, the butler could have been attacked by a Vian sister, or our killer Ms. Raley could have attacked him if he was a witness to her crime."

I pointed to the prosecution. "But the only possibility the evidence supports is my kidnapping theory!"

Mike nodded. "I admit the evidence may point towards that."

"Afterwards," continued Clara. "You stated that the butler's kidnapping and the murder of Malady Vian both took place at the same time!"

"And then, for some reason, you called my witness, Missy Vian's alibi into question, forcing me to call Mr. Watcher here." He snapped his fingers. "And might I add, his testimony is rock solid."

"Oh really?" I crossed my arms. "Watch it turn into a **rock slide!**" I pointed towards the witness. "There is a contradiction here! The Vian family dog lives in the back yard of the Vian Mansion! Thus Missy would have to exit out the **back door**, then proceed to walk the dog out of the yard gate!"

"What?" Mike clenched the sides of his desk. "I-is this true?"

"Terry was kind enough to give us both a copy of that record on the Vian security system. You can see here that Missy Vian left the house at 6:58pm, out the **back door!**"

"Yipes!" Roger's avian hat flew off his head, his fierce eyes turning to fear as he clutched his collar.

"Why would you say she came out the front when it's proven she came out the back?" I pointed toward the witness. "I also recall you saying that you saw her under a street light? The nearest street light to the Vian Mansion is over a quarter of a mile away! How long were you watching this young woman?"

"AhhAHHaahHhhh!" His hat spun around in a crazy circle around his elderly head, the ear flaps landing on his face and the back of his head in an almost comical manner.

"It seems the great Roger Watcher watches more than just birds at night!" I said, crossing my arms smugly.

"Wait! Wait! IT'S NOT WHAT YOU THIIIIIIIINK!!!!!!" He grabbed both ear flops of his cap and almost tore them off. "I an explain EVERYTHINNNNNNG!!!"

The court room flew into a riot, the din was so intense we could barely hear the mallet slam to declare a five-minute recess.

---


	15. Chapter 14

Hey! It's Gabriel Skanner here! As the failed 'new original character' cooked up by ioniclunch in order to enter the OC contest, I find that I should relinquish my duties and simply blend away into obscurity. But before I do that, I'm going to re-introduce my associate Gordon Truth since he's been away for almost a YEAR!!!

(Before I start, I should mention that I never actually made it into the contest… Not that my story was bad! Far from it, it had some real potential! But ioniclunch was so LAZY that my story never even came close to being completed! Thanks a lot buddy! Ending the overuse of exclamation points NOW!!)

Gordon Truth is a slightly tall potentially gifted rookie defense attorney taking residence somewhere in New York City with a blah apartment. He lives with his sister six years his junior who assists him with cases, and he has a weird affection for the color brown. It's the color of his suit, his hair and eyes, his desk, his briefcase, his folders, his… well lets not get hung up on trivial things. He has successfully defended two clients from murder charges and personally assisted in finding the real culprits. Presently, he is in a rather confusing but fast paced legal battle with his old high school friend (and ace prosecutor) Mike Angelo over the guilt/innocence of yet ANOTHER high school acquaintance Raley Vian, who clashes with Gordon frequently with her nasty personality.

The victim is Raley's mother, Malady Vian who died of a gunshot wound to the chest. The evidence proves that she must have been awake when she was shot, between 7:30 and 7:40. It has also been proven Malady was slowly POISONING herself to fake symptoms of a rare disease so she could control her two daughters, who wanted the mansion when their old mother finally passed. Weird huh?

And also, in a surprise TWIST!!! The butler of the estate, a Mr. Albert Reeves, had been kidnapped sometime before the incident (but Gordon's trying to prove the kidnapping and the murder happened at the same time). And in his room, there was BLOOD EVERYWHERE!! And because of his room security system, he must have let his attacker in! This is when they began to fight, and the butler ended up unconscious so the attacker could kidnap him.

Now, Gordon's client, Raley Vian, says she saw this happening, and the butler's attacker began chasing her! But for some reason, she won't tell Gordon anything else.

And right now, Gordon is questioning Roger Watcher, a witness who saw Raley's sister, Missy Vian, walking a dog and confirming her alibi for the murder. And he just accused Mr. Watcher of watching her obsessively! Interesting! Let's see how this all turns out!!

--

"To tell you the truth Mr. Watcher, I don't really care if you were obsessively watching Missy Vian or not. Actually, I prefer it! It makes you a better witness!"

"WAAIIT!!" He yelled, gripping his earflaps and hoisting them down around his head. "I'm a connoisseur! My second love is dogs! Throughout the whole walk I was studying the special breed of dog she was walking! That and the extremely shiny leach the dog was on… it kept glaring on all the pi-"

"Would you LISTEN!" I pointed at him. "I am about to ask you a very important question!"

I spun on my heel, facing him again. "Did you take any photos of her walk!"

Mike cleared his throat. "Of course not! If he had taken any pictures, we would have used them as further proof of Missy's alibi."

"Actually, now that you mention it," said Roger, rubbing his face is embarrassment, "I DID take a few snapshots…"

Mike's eyebrow twitched. "I swear I'm going to go insane."

"Well, um…" I rubbed my head. "Could we see these pictures?"

"Sure!" he said with a smile, apparently forgetting the rater creepy allegations against him.

Two black and white photos found their way to my desk. One was of Raley leaving by the back door, the other of her walking down a nondescript street. Both had a bad glare where the dog's leash should be. _That must be a really shiny leash…_

"Ok, now that that's over with…" said a slightly distraught Mike Angelo, "allow me say this: What in the world does this have to do with the killing of Malady Vian?"

"Why don't you take a look at this picture and see for yourself." I said smugly, "This explains how our mysterious visitor got himself inside the premises!"

"W-whaat?" He said as he gripped the sides of his desk. "How-?"

"Take a look at the back door and you'll see… she left it WIDE OPEN!!"

"AHHHH!!!" Mike's hands flew up around his head.

The judge stirred. "Why, this must render the entire security system useless! I'm surprised at you Missy!" he said as his eyes narrowed to no-one in particular.

"With this evidence, it shows that someone not a part of the Vian family had ample opportunity to find is way inside of the mansion."

"But this is just… a coincidence! How could anyone have planned this if it was just an accident that Missy… would… oh no…" Mike face palmed.

"Finally getting it huh?" I said; my arms crossed. "Looks like our Missy Vian isn't as innocent as we once thought. In fact, she's an accomplice to this murder/kidnapping!"

The audience became restless.

"This will not stand!" The judge slammed his mallet. "Missy Vian has just become an integral part to this case! Prosecution, where is she!"

Mike appeared at a loss for words. "Umm… she, she… was supposed to be here but…"

"Spit it out Mike!" I yelped.

"We can't find her!"

"WhAAAT!" The judge almost stood up in his chair. "How many people have to disappear from this case before we can reach a verdict!"

"It's so weird…" said Clara beside me. "But the judge is right, it does seem that everyone important to this case ends up disappearing before we can question them!"

I rested my hands on my desk. "Rest assured this is no coincidence. Missy was an accomplice to this murder from the very beginning. Whoever kidnapped the butler needed someone on the inside to grant him access."

"So, what do we do now Gordon?" she asked in an almost scared tone.

My eyes panned the crowded courtroom full of restless audience members. "We've proven that whoever came into the mansion only wanted to kidnap the butler. Due to this photo, we now have proven that it could only have been this day that the murderer had the opportunity to get inside the mansion, now all we can do is finish this."

"How?"

I cleared my throat. "Will my client, Raley Vian, please take the stand?"

---

Everyone was as quiet as death; the audience on the edge of their seats. Mike, defeated and distraught, leaned weakly on his desk at a loss for thought. Raley had taken her seat on the stand with an expression of guilt and fear, and I placed my hand on hers to give her one last bout of confidence. This was it, this was the end.

"Raley, I'm not going to dance around it. So just tell us… what really happened that night?"

She gathered her thoughts for what felt like hours. When she finally spoke, her voice was horse and thin.

"My mother and I never got along, ever. It had been so long since we were forced to take care of her I finally asked her that night; I asked her if it was going to be me who inherited the mansion." She swallowed with difficulty and continued. "When she told me she still hadn't decided I pulled open he drawer with the poison inside of it, all of the packets opened and empty."

I pulled out my picture of the same drawer. "So you knew she was faking her disease?"

She nodded. "I had been suspicious for a long time, and just the other day I found the packets inside while she was sleeping. I was so angry, I screamed at her and told her I knew what she was doing."

"What did she say?"

"She said, she wasn't going to do it anymore, the poison had caused her so much pain that she decided to end it. She was going to get better and when she recovered, she told me that then she would decide who would inherit the estate."

"I see, so you actually would have no motive to kill her?"

"No, not if she was going to get better and stop this horrible game. But she was still a bitch," she said as her nostrils flared and her face twisted.

I pulled out my photo of the victim's vitamin ox in her bathroom. "The poison your mother was ingesting caused her a lot of pain. She needed powerful painkillers just so she could function regularly. It's no surprise that after three months, even she got tired of her own plan for control. Anyway, continue."

"She took her sleeping pill and I took the tray outside of her room. I was making my way back to the stairs when… when…"

"It's okay, this is a safe place. You are under complete surveillance."

"A man, a man I knew. He came running down the opposite hallway. And he had the butler, he was being dragged behind, there was so much blood…"

"And then what happened?"

"He saw me, he knew I recognized him and he screamed at me. His eyes… his eyes shone red and he jumped at me… with his gun…"

"What did you do then?"

"I'm not sure… I ran in the other direction, back toward my mother's room. I slammed the door open, she was so surprised and frightened… And then he came inside, smiling… pointing his gun at me… when… when…"

"When what?" The suspense was making me choke.

"It's impossible, I still can't believe she did it but then… she…"

"What? What happened?"

"My mother! She jumped in between us… right as he pulled the trigger!"

I was stunned. The audience didn't mutter a single word.

"I couldn't believe it, I still don't believe it but… she died protecting me. She… she… was foolish to think… to think that would atone for all she's done."

Still bitter, after all these years; a family built upon lies and greed. The evil of it spreading like a plague, like the victim pretended to have. It was an irony that the plague she really had was not one of physical health, but of spiritual corruption.

"What happened then?"

"I think the man… he must have gotten scared. And he just, left while my mother died in my arms…"

"Did you put her back in her bed?"

"Yes… I though it was only respectful of who she was and what she had done… to die in the bed she controlled us from each day…"

The judge blinked… "This is… well, I don't quite know what to think of this."

"There's still one problem…" said Mike. "Why are your fingerprints on the gun?"

"I-I was in shock, he must have dropped it behind him when he left and I… I just, picked it up and… and threw it out the window."

The audience appeared to hold its breath. "Then there's only one more thing we need to know." I said with finality. "Who was it that killed your mother and kidnapped the butler?"

Her eyes darted all around. "I… I don't want…"

"This is a safe place," I reminded her, "I promised that you would not get hurt. It's okay… just tell us."

Everyone in the courtroom waited with a drawn breath; frozen in anticipation.

"It was… it was… V… V-V… Vi-."

But she was unable to finish, because at that very moment, a sound rang out.

Everything was frozen in time and space and a drop of blood crept down into her face, her eyes wide in shock and pain, the sound of her struggling voice bubbled until her body thrust forward onto the stand, lifeless, empty, vain.

There was uproar, voices rang painfully in both ears, but I could not hear them. The room blackened around me as my mouth hang open, my mind racing with buzz and static until I could sort out only one thought…

_No… not again. How could I let this happen again!!_

"Gordon! We have to go!"

My mind could not form words, with dead motivation, my sister managed to take me out of the courtroom, my mind and soul still a blank. I grasped my hair and pulled at it.

"This can't be HAPPENIIIIIIINNNGG!!!!"

_The End_


End file.
